


The Dragon's Table

by bravevesperian



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Breeding, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Major Character Injury, Male Gimurei | Grima, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Torture Porn, it's a doozy, m!chrobin, non-consensual deep throating, these will be updated with the next chapter.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravevesperian/pseuds/bravevesperian
Summary: In a ruined timeline, Grima makes a toy for himself out of what is left of Naga's bloodline-- and prepares to hunt down the last surviving remnants. Revelling in the despair, he makes Chrom the perfect Risen. He surpasses the creator who scorned him, but what is left to him?





	1. The Risen King

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super late to this fandom, but I like to have as much canon as possible under my belt before I undertake anything, and the info slipped into SoV really.... got my brain cranking. This timeline is a doomed one where Lucina never made it out of the timeline and didn't get her hands on Falchion, either. A good deal of it is inspired by my own hypothesis based on the official art for "Risen King Chrom" and speculating about how the Thanatophages work, etc. etc. 
> 
> This is also a timeline where Chrom and Robin were in love, but Chrom's duty and birthright as king required he marry and have an heir. Their love went unspoken right up until Grima killed Chrom. 
> 
> It's a lot of set up for a bunch of messed up, dark smut that will be the next chapter at least lol.

Lucina slipping away was... annoying though there was nothing that she could really do now that the Fell Dragon had claimed a suitable vessel. He was sure even now, that his vessel in other realities felt him stirring within: felt the ripple of power across the boundaries between worlds. 

It was almost sad. He had done what he had set out to do, and with Lucina and the other children hiding like rats, there was little left to stand in his way. He was sure she was meant to make off with Falchion and escape to some other world. His interference across realities seemed to have paid off in halting that gambit, at least in this one branch of reality. That meant that his current self was going to get to have an awful lot of fun. 

There, at the Dragon's Table, the body of the Exalt was barely cold-- his bright blue eyes still glassy and true, though a bit clouded already. A shame, really. Grima didn't know if it was something inside of the vessel he inhabited or his own cruelty, but what he did next was nearly just an afterthought; a whim. Might as well get to work before rigor mortis set in. Who was lucky enough to have such a fresh specimen, anyway? Not Grima's creator, for one. 

A wicked spark of madness set the fluttering remnants of the man whose mind and will he had torn apart and splintered aflame. If Grima didn't know better, he'd have thought the poor thing was screaming-- but that wasn't possible, since he'd devoured everything that there was of Robin: as if there had ever really _been_ a "Robin" in the first place. 

Grima turned to one of several Risen lurking around and looked up at the moldering corpse. Surely, it had been in the ground for some time before the Thanatophages found him. The man stared out at nothing with his eerily glowing eyes, and Grima curled his lip at the up-close view. Hiding his disgust, he reached up and dug his fingers into the edges of the death mask. 

This was the age-old method that Grima's creator had used to reanimate the dead, but there would be no grotesque mask for his masterpiece. In this manner, he would yet again surpass his foolish maker. 

The sound of flesh and sinew tearing was lost on any ears that might have still been there to hear it, and even Grima found no joy in the grim task. The Risen didn't squirm or scream or fight as a living creature should have; just loomed in place until the mask of flesh covering his skull had ripped away, and then dropped heavily to the stone floor. 

For a moment, he watched as the insect retracted its long tendrils and their awful boring spirals as it prepared to flee and seek a host. Instead, he snatched it up, sides pinned between his fingers and returned to where Chrom's corpse had fallen. 

Dropping the sheet of leathery skin he'd torn away, He considered his options for encouraging the Thanatophage to stay in place. A bandage, perhaps? It would almost be stylish-- but then the tip of his boot sent something hard and metal clanging across the stones and his lips split into a grin of satisfaction. _Pure poetry_ was what it was. Better than any human could derive or compose. 

From the dust and debris, he lifted the Plegian crown and placed the glimmering insect, like a grotesque jewel upon Chrom's pallid forehead. The back of his neck was still warm when he lifted his head, as if to further illustrate the great tragedy of the last Exalt of Ylisse. He was a terrible waste-- and so Grima chose not to make waste at all. 

The moment it began to sink into the flesh, Grima slipped the blackened crown onto the king's head. With a bit of wriggling the band sat snug; nearly tightly-- over the place where the Thanatophage had burrowed. Along with it, he forced deep from the wells of his ancient magic his hateful, dark will and magic-- a power his useless predecessor had had no access to, and then with bated breath, he waited. Minutes ticked by, and he began to get antsy. Had he failed? Was his magic warded from the souls of this accursed line? Had he been denied the only viable plaything left to him in this wretched expanse of nothingness?

Just as he was ready to let the rage of disappointment consume him, Chrom's body jerked from the rather dramatic ancient altar it had fallen upon, and his half-open cloudy eyes shot wide. A preternatural light crept into his irises, burning away the familiar sky blue like a virulent blaze. A guttural hoarse groan left him-- typical of Risen, and Grima shushed him gently. 

"Now, now. You're not feeling well, and you've got a terrible wound that needs healed." It was a lie, clearly. A Risen could not be sick, and that wound would never heal, at least not naturally. At least he had used a bolt of energy that had more or less cauterized the worst of it. The thought nearly made him chuckle. 

Chrom's face showed panic for several moments-- something a simple zombie shouldn't be capable of. Then again, he'd never seen one with pliable features still in-tact. He really had outdone himself, _and_ Forneus all at once. 

"Robin." The single word breathed over once-pink-lips made Grima's blood curdle and his hair stand on end. 

"There's no Robin here, Chrom." He said lowly, hand placed squarely on the Exalt's chest. 

The only thing that saved his new creation from his wrath was the fact that he had spoken at all. A Risen that could speak was unheard of! The decay always attacked such abilities quickly, as well as the brain itself, limiting function. The perfect life form was what his creator had been seeking, and the secret of reviving the dead. He had surpassed him in both at once. 

"No." It was as if he strained to find the word in the first place. 

"Oh _yes_ ," Grima responded. "You are _mine_ now, and I think you will find it hard to argue otherwise." 

He was delighted to see the light of awareness in Chrom's ruined crimson gaze, milky beneath the odd light. It was going to be so much more fun than a simple, lifeless Risen. Again, he thought to himself of that ancient time before the labyrinth, before his creator made the mistake of turning his back on him: He had always thought it the greatest failing of Forneus' attempts at creating life. He never used stock fresh enough, or subjects whose soul clung to the living world with a desperation that could have likely created a haunting all on its own. Souls with the strength and tenacity of divinity in them-- souls like Chrom's.

Grima had become rather accustomed to human souls over the ages, and none had burned hotter or brighter than Chrom's. Was that what was happening here? Was he unknowingly _haunting_ his own reanimated corpse? The thought was enough to send delighted shivers down his spine. His own virulent hatred of the Exalt was replaced by a twisted fascination, and a desire. Thousands of years of offerings; countless souls he had feasted upon-- and now this one, this one brilliant shining thing he could have as his own. 

The Risen seemed to struggle with his senses, with the body that he had inhabited his entire life. Chrom's fingers flexed slowly, and then he gingerly moved to push himself up, ignoring the resistance that Grima's hand had given him initially. Slowly, he glanced around and seemed to take in the weight of his situation. His eyes rested on the motionless Risen soldiers with their mummified, decaying body parts as if he was afraid he might recognize one. It was a fear that Grima would tuck away and use for later. Then, his luminescent eyes dropped down to his own middle and his ruined surcoat-- innards threatening to spill from the wound that had killed him. 

Chrom's voice echoed from the stone walls as he let out something like a yelp of terror before desperately pressing his hands to the wound, trying to hold himself together. He gasped and panted with the horror of it all, though he had no need to breathe. It was habit, probably. 

Grima's laugh echoed back over Chrom's sounds of panic as he touched the Exalt's shoulders with deceptive gentleness. 

"It must be terrible. Does it hurt? Can you feel it?" He reached down and covered he back of Chrom's hand with his own in an attempt to still and comfort him, just for the moment. Grima wondered how much of his creators' desire to experiment and understand everything around him had impressed upon him. 

Chrom took a few deep breaths, looking up into Grima's face as though he wasn't sure which eyes to look into. He nodded slowly, his own eyes a bit wide and his pallid expression guarded. Grima made a sound of delight at the admission, and then his gentle hand on Chrom's turned suddenly, plunging viciously into the gaping wound.

The howl of pain that resulted echoed into the far reaches of the Dragon's table, and if anyone nearby was still alive to hear it it was surely the most awful thing they'd ever bore witness to. It left Grima trembling with a dark pleasure. No matter how much he ripped Chrom apart, he wouldn't be able to die. There would be no escape for him, Naga's blood be damned. 

The Risen heaved and gulped air when Grima pulled back, shaking his hand as though it could rid him of the coagulated blood and viscera it had accumulated. He grinned at the struggling man and then reached out again, a searing dark magic passing over his finger as he used his power to burn and twist Chrom's skin until it began to fuse back together. He ignored his cries and then stepped back to admire his work when it was finished. 

"Fun, but we can't have you dripping out all over the carpets whenever I call upon you, can we?" 

At that, Chrom surged to his feet, his hands encircling Grima's throat, thumbs intent on crushing his windpipe. The Risen's strength was incredible, but the Fell Dragon managed to wheeze out a warning through his incessant giggling: "You're going to kill Robin if you don't stop,"

Chrom yanked his hands back as though he'd been burned, and Grima continued to laugh. The Exalt looked down at his hands, trembling with the weight of everything that had happened, unable to make a move. 

"But you know that don't you? That Robin and I have always been one and the same: That the memories he so desperately tried to reclaim are actually mine. Thousands of years of emptiness, and you foul, ugly humans just going on as though you're the rightful owners of this world. It's unfair. Don't you understand it? No-- you couldn't." Chrom watched Grima as he paced, slightly slack-jawed. 

"You may be dead, but _this_ body isn't. It'd be a real drag to have to reanimate my own vessel, Chrom." He added. "And after all-- it is the _vessel_ you value, isn't it?"

"Stop this... stop this. Give him back." Chrom's words were weak, spoken nearly under his breath.

"You really weren't valued for your brains, were you, Chrom? I am Robin. Robin is me. You already have all you wish for-- now, you're going to show me the strengths and the limitations of this body. I _too_ will have all that I was denied." He answered viciously, lips curled into a smile that was just teeth. 

A dry, hot gust carried the stink of ash and charred remains from outside of the temple complex. Even under the heavy metal of his ghastly new crown Chrom's soft azure hair caught the breeze, and Grima caught the hint of vulnerability in his gaze.

"I despise humans. But you're not human anymore. You understand what you are, don't you? You can feel the base desires of your kind rising up in you like poison, can't you?" Grima returned his hand to Chrom's chest, fingers creeping slowly up to the base of his throat. 

"You wanted him so badly, but you had to marry and bear children for the sake of your kingdom. All you wanted was to live your days with the sword at your side, and the wind at your back-- oh, and you wanted to fuck the pretty strategist. You wanted that, too, didn't you?" Grima's voice was a low purr-- it was becoming hard to tell the difference between his voice and Robin's in part because there _was no difference_. 

Grima knew Chrom was shaken. It was obvious if only because he didn't shove him away. Even lacking coloring in his cheeks, it was clear that the Exalt burned with shame. He didn't answer, but it was typical of a Risen to be non-verbal. He'd grow used to his new instincts soon enough. 

"It's alright, you know. Now we can both have everything we ever wanted. I can give you Robin. All you must do is love me, serve me-- watch over this dying world with me, and we shall be as gods." 

Grima knew that Chrom looked at him only with repulsion for wearing the skin of the man he loved. He also knew that he now dangled the only singular hope there was in front of him. Chrom would bide his time, learn the limits of his new power-- and try to destroy him. Grima welcomed the challenge. He would crush him, and his spirit until there was nothing left.

In the end, his creator-- his _father_ had betrayed him, too frightened to love the unfathomable being that his alchemical and esoteric labors had given birth to. No one had ever loved him and now, _now _Grima would have what he had been denied, even if he had to take it by force.__

__He pulled back and disengaged, standing up straight to dust himself off before Chrom could respond to anything he'd said. "Come, my Risen King. Ah, sorry-- You like it when I say your name in this voice, don't you? Come, Chrom. We must get you something to wear that you didn't die in. Some proper armor, really."_ _

__Grima all but fed on the animosity that Chrom struggled to keep in check. About to lead the way back to the entrance, something laying in the dust caught his eyes. He crossed over to the sword laying against the base of the altar where the Exalt had fallen and picked it up._ _

__Just being in such close proximity to it made his hand sting and tingle. Somewhere not far away, the Manakete Tiki's body also lay, likely starting to give way to decay already. Naga's voice in the land had died by his hand, and now this remained an ugly near and present danger. He snickered to himself, feeling Chrom looming nearby. He wondered if he was thinking of trying to wrest the thing from his grip. Best make his work fast, then._ _

__Grima reached deep into the wells of his power and passed his hand along the length of Falchion's holy blade, careful of its deadly edges. Just as he had done when he placed the Thanatophage upon Chrom's brow, he pushed into it his own will, rancor, and hate. A wave of selfsure pleasure washed over him as the holy blade warped and changed, and vestiges of his eyes opened along its length. When he was sure that there was no trace of Naga that hadn't been obliterated within it, he turned and smiled as he held the hilt towards Chrom._ _

__"Take your sword-- I would not deny a king his blade." He said pleasantly, and revelled in the pained expression on the Risen's face as he did as he was told._ _

__When he walked away he knew that Chrom would follow him, and didn't even cast him a second glance to check as he stepped out into the new world that he would mold in his own image._ _


	2. An Audience with God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _On your knees: and offer up prayers to your god, worm._

It was ironic in some way that the Plegian capitol was one of the few places still standing in-tact. Grima couldn't help unleashing the greatest terrors upon the Halidom of Ylisse first and foremost, after all. He had a need to burn away Robin's fond memories of the place to be certain that he knew all hope had fled. 

The hulking fossilized remains of one of Grima's former incarnations was a fitting place to build a city for those that worshiped him and death--a choice that he was almost flattered by. Those who served him were fools and worms just as much as the others. Somehow they welcomed their own end and called for his promise of oblivion--whatever made them serve their purpose. This one thing alone filled Grima with a sort of dark appreciation. That, and the sight of his spectral King roaming and pacing the palace halls like some caged beast. 

He had left Chrom with nothing to entertain himself with, and no explanation for what he was and how to deal with it. The enduring nature of Chrom's spirit continued to amuse him. The two of them were ghosts haunting a monument to death as priests served them much the way that any crew of servants and retainers might have done for a normal royal family. There was nothing normal about any of it at all. 

"Lord Grima, when will we move against Valm? As things stand, Ylisse is sure to fall against our siege any day now." The priest speaking seemed to be on the verge of shaking where he stood. He barely had Grima's attention. 

"Ah, yes. Conquest, of course." It was something he was supposed to care about, but he found that he really didn't. A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed, and he shifted where he sat draped over what was once Gangrel's throne.

"Have you had any luck rounding up the surviving Shepherds, by chance? I think Chrom's lonely." He cast a baleful glance to where Chrom stood dutifully not far away. Grima loved the play of emotion on the dead man's face any time that he brought up the fact that some of his motley band was likely still alive,and that they were being pointedly hunted. 

"We are... certainly searching high and low, your eminence. It's just that-- should we not be prioritizing gains for our military and food stores? They will not last forever." The man suggested as gently as he could. 

"Yes, unfortunate. You'll prioritize what I tell you to." Grima said, looking bored. "Now go bother Morgan with this, I've got things to do." 

The man stammered and made a hasty retreat to do as he was told, clearly glad to be rid of the overwhelming presence that was Grima. 

From where he stood with his warped Falchion in its sheath, Chrom watched as Grima's human eyes closed and the unsettling ones that seemed to split the flesh of his face apart flared open. The entirety of the structure shuddered as the massive weight of the spectral dragon's true form shifted on the stone above them and then took swiftly to the skies-- for another raid into Ylissian territory, he was sure. 

That awful presence seemed to fade, whenever Grima went into these near trance states. His mind tried to split in two; something it was far better at than he would ever admit. 

Chrom had been shocked to find his heart still beating after the fact, its function merely transformed-- it circulated whatever fluid the Thanatophage propagated through what was once his blood stream, promising that his lifeless body would never decay. Now, he could feel it hammering in his throat as he considered his next move. He'd already tested several times to see if Grima was aware of his surroundings when he sent his larger counterpart out into the world, and he rarely reacted save to threaten Chrom with violence if he didn't stop whatever he was doing. 

"Robin. If you're in there... If you can hear me. I-- I'm sorry. I'll figure something out. Somehow." His hand lifted from where it hung limply at his side and paused just before brushing cold fingertips against Robin's cheek. Yes-- it was Robin's cheek. One set of jewel like crimson eyes snapped towards him, and it nearly turned his stomach. Chrom hesitated, wondering if there was any point in trying to break through. 

There was no happy ending. There was no version of this where Chrom saved Robin and they finally got to live happily ever after on the memory of his murdered wife and children. Maybe in some ways, he was as bad as Grima. Maybe his selfish desires were what they were all being punished for now. He couldn't do anything to save them-- any of them.

Chrom was drawn out of his despair when he felt a hand clutch his, all but crushing his fingers together. He searched the face before him, only to find Robin's eyes staring back at him. His torment was written on his face. Chrom would've known it anywhere, from a hundred miles away. For the few scant moments that he had he said nothing for fear of finding the Fell Dragon's attention directed back at him. 

And that was the evil of it too-- he could glimpse Robin in these moments, take solace in knowing that he was there and that they didn't suffer alone-- but only in the knowledge that Grima was ripping apart the countryside in search of whatever was left of their families. 

"I promise, I'll--"  
"Don't. He's watching." Robin's voice; Robin's sweet, blessed voice-- but it left Chrom feeling hollow.

Robin wanted desperately to beg Chrom to kill him, but he wasn't even sure that there was a way that remained to do that. With Falchion corrupted, any true guarantee was long gone. And then, Chrom would have to face the long dark alone. 

What felt like infinity and still yet no time at all passed as Chrom stood in silence, grounded by Robin's grasp. He was filled with so much hope that when the crimson light came back into his eyes it was jarring. 

"This is so sweet, Chrom. This is what we could have, you know." Grima's voice was clear again. When Chrom tried to recoil, the Fell Dragon tightened what had been Robin's grip. 

"No." Chrom said simply and shook his head. 

"No? Is that all you can say? And you were so very chatty a little while ago. I'm sick of hearing that word, Chrom." What had started as a fun experiment for him had yielded nearly nothing. The Exalt refused to break and as he returned from his own labors nearly triumphant he found only his own soured mood. 

"I've found a surprise for you, but you'll have to make it worth my while." Chrom regarded him with a sense of distrust, and rightfully so. Anything that made Grima happy was going to hurt Chrom and likely exponentially. A sort of dread that he could no longer turn back had settled over him as Grima shifted to fist a handful of the fabric on the Risen's shoulder before tugging him down, down until he had no choice but to give in and settle to his knees. He could have fought, but there was little point. 

"N-No." This one came a little weaker, a little less certain. 

"Chrom, _you_ have the power to let your dear Robin feel something aside from the anguish he's in." At that, Chrom's luminescent gaze sharpened, and his breath (though unnecessary) stopped. 

Grima shifted once more, his knees falling apart lazily on the too-large-for-him throne that he'd occupied. Even under Robin's belt and sash, Chrom could see that he was hard, straining against the thick canvas of his trousers. 

"Gods," He immediately hated himself for the show of weakness, for the delighted chuckle it got from the depth of Grima's chest. His voice always seemed as if it came from somewhere deeper inside of him than Robin's did. Something about the comparison made Chrom shudder. 

"Well.. your mouth still works,doesn't it?" Grima asked with the same languid laziness that he moved with. 

Grima knew about things like the pleasure that humans derived from their so-called mating practices. While completely below him, this was yet another thing that he had in his mind been deprived of. He'd never asked to be created, never asked to be saddled with the yolk of being some madman's perfect being-- but he was a god now, the only god this world needed-- and was it not a god's right to demand tribute?

Chrom's blue-tinged skin and pallid lips made even his utterly gobsmacked expression look eerie and severe. Grima laughed at it and reached out to take a handful of the azure hair at the back of the Exalt's head, careful not to dislodge or disturb his now permanent head ornament. He grunted and gave only the weakest of struggles before being dragged half way into the Fell Dragon's lap. 

The shift in his balance-- which he still felt as though had never come back quite entirely since his re-making-- made him pitch forward, his cheek pressed against Grima's thigh. He was sure the rather cruelly sharp prongs on his crown must've torn into fabric and skin alike but he saw no reaction suggesting such. 

With his free hand, Grima unfastened the little buttons on his fly and pulled himself free, presenting the very clear erection in such away that the head nearly brushed Chrom's lips. 

That was the worst thing about it-- no matter what Chrom did, if Grima wanted to he could pull rank and use his power over the Risen hive-mind to make his body do whatever he wanted it to do. Chrom still didn't realize the differences between his own condition and the other Risen that they had always seen as merely mindless drones. He thought that perhaps they were all just trapped within their own minds while Grima toyed with him--he had no understanding of the fact that he was unique, or that his own soul was what had damned him. 

And beyond that, a sickening guilt settled in the cold pit of his empty stomach. How many times had he imagined Robin like this? How many times had he tried to let courtly, chivalrous love for his wife and family win out only to find himself alone, hand between his legs with Robin's big brown eyes in his mind?

He hadn't thought he'd be this _big_ , or was that-- much like Grima's seemingly more chiseled appearance-- also a side effect of the ridiculous amount of arcane power channelled through his vessel? Chrom wasn't sure that he wanted to know. _\--To let Robin feel something that wasn't agony_ \-- but Grima couldn't be trusted, that much was clear. 

In the end, knowing that choice would be made for him one way or another, Chrom finally chose to do as he was told. Coerced or not, at least he was moving of his own free will. He parted his lips and gingerly pressed the flat of his tongue to the crown of Grima's cock, dragging it across the skin until the tip pressed experimentally against the slit at the tip of the head. The grip in his hair went slack, and Chrom shifted his gaze so that he could get some read on the situation even if from the corner of his eye. 

Grima's eyes had gone wide, his lips parted in a shuddering gasp that made him into the mockery of a saint in benediction. Chrom nearly laughed aloud at the strange irony that a being like him full of every dark vice imaginable-- had clearly never _felt_ anything like this before. It was something that Chrom could steel himself with as though it were the only thing he had to his advantage. It was a bizarre thing to consider at least in his mind-- to exist for thousands of years and never know carnal pleasure.Then again, maybe it really was the realm of humans specifically. 

He continued what he was doing, just tonguing the length of _Robin's_ warm, velvet skin and watching the shudders it sent through Grima's form. Chrom watched, his disgust and rage suspended by his more base instincts for the moment. He nearly let out his own Grima-like burst of wild giggles at the sight of the Fell Dragon stuffing his knuckles into his mouth in an attempt to quiet himself. It was some sick, twisted form of conquest that felt almost like fighting back, even though he was really just giving Grima what he wanted.

The teasing continued, and Chrom burned with shame at his own arousal at the sight of the glistening erection twitching with need between Robin's thighs-- gods, _Robin's thighs_ \-- He didn't have time to be shocked that he _could_ be aroused despite his state of undeath. It may not have been blood pumping in his veins exactly, but something surely was: Enough to have his dick pressed tight against his fabric to the point of discomfort. He pressed his lips to the tip of Robin's cock and froze when he felt hands fist in his hair again. 

It seemed that suddenly, Grima had understood what to do with himself-- and how easy it was to take your pleasure from someone. As if the realization had ignited a frenzy in him, he gripped Chrom's head and plunged into his mouth to the hilt. The motion crushed the Exalt's nose into Grima's feathery silver-white pubic hair as well as drawing angry red welts along his own stomach with the sharp tips of the Plegian crown,even through the fabric of his linen undershirt. 

Chrom choked and retched, but there was nothing in his stomach-- if it even still functioned at all-- and in a moment the foul sounds of Grima fucking into his throat was all there was to be heard. As a matter of instinct, Chrom tried to guard his teeth with his lips, tried to keep from the awful, strangled noises being forced out of him with each thrust-- but there was nothing he could do. His jaw ached and muscles screamed at him in pure agony for what only lasted a few minutes--and Grima froze buried inside of him as liquid heat pumped into his abused throat. 

Groaning and trembling, he slowly pulled back and watched in rapt attention as Chrom heaved and choked on the mixture of cum, drool, and his own blackened blood mixed with whatever the Thanatophages pumped into him to keep him moving. It dribbled down his chin, mixed with the rivulets of reflexive tears that had begun to pour down his face. Grima suddenly understood why men loved to subject those they conquered to such horror. He suddenly understood _much_ and he wanted more. 

"You poor, miserable worm. Come here, let me heal it." Chrom coughed up another wave of black, and though he cringed away, Grima passed his fingertips over the exposed column of his throat. It tingled and hurt, but not as much as the wound in his gut had-- and he could immediately breathe better, though it really didn't matter. Grima, seemingly in high spirits, paused and wiped away some of the blackened blood from his face with his sleeve, and glanced around the room. 

"You feel good, but you're too cold. Next time I'll have them draw a hot bath first." He said dismissively, and stood to tuck himself back into his pants. 

"This evening, after my meal I think," he continued, and Chrom remembered him saying that he wanted to test the limits of his body... but this was something beyond the pale. 

For a moment, Grima's gaze glossed over and drifted away again before a wicked grin broke out over his face. It was never a smile with him; just a bearing of teeth. 

"Perfect timing. My gift has arrived." Sure enough, moments later the sound of heavy booted feet on the stone drew Chrom to lift his head, dejected as he was, to look at the entryway to the audience chamber. 

A detachment of soldiers rounded the corner into view-- most of them still living from the looks of it, and came halfway to the throne before dropping a beaten and battered body in a stained cloth sack robe on the floor. Chrom cringed, at first thinking the person must be dead until they stirred a moment later. Thin limbs and sunken in features that were nearly unrecognizable didn't hide the mass of tangled golden hair that made recognition wash over him. 

"Chrom...? Oh gods... Gods, _no--_! What did they do to you?!" Lissa's voice shot through him like another arcane bolt where he sat at Grima's feet, and he swiftly looked away as if hiding his awful glaring gaze and the mess of his face could save her from the horror she felt. In fact, he was sure that _nothing_ could save her now. 

"Lissa of the Shepherds. She still lives, you see? Now, take her away. I've no time to deal with a tearful reunion-- and you know what else? Get someone to draw me a bath. I want it hot enough to scald." He said dismissively. 

Chrom fought everything in him to remain still and ignore Lissa's cries. If he gave in and went after her now, he was sure it would bring nothing but Grima's wrath on them both. 

"Well look at that-- aren't you just every bit the foul little deviant I always suspected you were-- I mean, Robin did, anyway. I bet he liked thinking about sitting on your cock. I'm sure of it actually." Why had he brought her here only to keep right on his original train of thought? 

The worst of it was that Chrom realized he was still half hard-- and that that was what Grima was commenting on. 

"What a waste." He mused and then settled into a crouch in front of the carved stone throne, reaching out to grip Chrom through the heavy canvas of his surcoat. 

Despite himself, he let out a whimper as he turned his crimson gaze away. He felt the resistance as the closures on the front of his clothing were popped loose and then warmth that was almost too much, too hot-- _burning_. 

The former Exalt's frayed mind was starting to unravel. It was too much to have all of this coming at him at once-- too much to try to desperately form some kind of plan, some kind of hope. He hadn't even caught how strange it was for Grima to mix himself and Robin up. 

Now, Grima was establishing this foul system of reward and punishment, with even more collateral hanging over Chrom's head. On some level, Chrom knew that Grima wouldn't _kill_ Robin, that'd be literal suicide-- but someone like Lissa was entirely at his mercy. 

"Does it feel good? Will you be a good boy for me now, Chrom?" Grima's voice snapped him out of his racing thoughts and back to the un-asked for jolts of pleasure that the Fell Dragon was offering him. It felt good not to think, not to feel constantly bound by the honor he was all but giving up and casting at the enemy's feet. 

Finally, perhaps for the first time, he whispered: "Yes," 

The sound in response was an undisguised moan. Grima had won, at least for the time being-- at least until he tired of keeping a caged bird and rewarded her with the same fate as her sister. Oh yes, that would be a grand production the likes of which he couldn't wait to orchestrate. Soon. 

Desperate for relief from the anguish he'd been subjected to non-stop, Chrom rocked his hips into Grima's hand, holding his breath behind gritted teeth. He'd forgotten all of his desires to avoid giving the monster any satisfaction. Here he was on his knees before the throne his family had hated and despised- here he was on his knees before the only god left in their world, shaking and moaning as he jerked him off.

"You're being so good," Grima cooed, and Chrom let him pull him close, into something of an embrace as he stroked his cock. When his muscles started to get weak, Grima held him up like it was nothing, humming with cocksure self-approval as he felt Chrom cling to him tighter and tighter. "That's it, don't hold back-- just give in." 

There was no fanfare or bells and whistles-- it was just what it was. Chrom came with a strangled grunt, his face buried in Grima's shoulder, pretending, wishing desperately that it was Robin in that familiar heavy canvas coat. When he was finished, he clung tighter, nuzzling against the fabric. It was familiar; it was safe from the awful reality he'd have to open his eyes to in a few moments' time. 

"Who knew it only took this to tame the mighty Exalt? Chrom, you made a mess. I hope you're ready for a bath." Grima wasn't done with him-- but as long as he focused on what was in front of him, he couldn't dread what would come next. 

For all that he'd fought, the time had worn Chrom down without him realizing it. Relegating him to solitude in the Plegian castle, refusing to touch him like he had if ever so briefly the day he'd "created" him-- it was all a ploy to break him down. The cruelty and jabs hadn't even mattered. They were just red herrings. Now, desperate for anything that wasn't solitude and suffering, Chrom couldn't have torn himself away from Grima's side even if he'd wanted to. 

When Grima began to step away leading him by the hand, Chrom rose and followed on his shaky legs without any protest-- and Robin's lips smiled at him.


	3. Bathed in Holy Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grima finally gets Chrom alone and has his way with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lul in activity! My partner surprised me with a small vacation, and when we're both not working I always vow not to work at all (writing is what I do, so even if I'm writing for pleasure I usually end up wandering in to work :/)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this smutty escapade before the plot heavy next few chapters~

Chrom's mind remained blissfully blank as he traversed the halls of Plegia castle. The warm sandstone color that permeated the place wasn't that bad-- and it was a good deal less dark and dank than he'd expected it to be. In his own mind, Plegia had remained a place of horrors,even though he knew that the people weren't necessarily loyal to Grima. It was a stupid thing to worry about now.

The room that the servants were scurrying to prepare for them was opulent to say the least. Chrom had expected a communal bath or a room just _for_ the purpose of bathing-- but this was clearly the extravagant bedroom and antechamber of a monarch. He wondered how long it had been since Gangrel had occupied it, and found himself looking around at the various objects, some dusty with disuse, with distaste. 

On one end of the room stood the lord's massive four poster bed with its black and gold trappings. Who put black velvet on their bed? It seemed... tacky. With a thick, plush rug of black and gold geometric designs in between, the other end of the room descended into stone stairs and a basin large enough for several people to bathe in it in comfort. There were long, plush cushions for lounging at the edges and the smell of incense and soothing oils hung strong in the air. 

Chrom knew what he was meant to do, but his hands felt numb, fingers suddenly as stiff and unmoving as the corpse he should have been. His hand had frozen over the edge of his partially unfastened surcoat, just short of finding more of the closures. Grima watched him lazily from not far away, but it seemed like only one set of the dragon's eyes-- the ones on the left cheek-- were actually focused on him. The others gazed at the water, distant and far away. 

Chrom was instantly reminded of a specific evening in the communal bath back in Yllisse, and how he had Robin had fallen into a fit of giggles, romping around until they found each other pressed too close and too comfortable. Both had frozen, unsure of what to do only that they _mustn't_ go any further if they wanted to avoid crossing a line that they couldn't come back from. Chrom's throat felt tight at the memory, and then Grima was back-- his eyes cold and fully focused on him. 

"Go on, Chrom. Don't make me wait all night. At this rate I'll have to put off dinner before I'm done with you." He mused, and Chrom once again had to check himself at the sound of Robin's playful giggle. 

They were the same-- what he'd said all along was that they were the same, and always had been. Robin's missing memories had just been Grima's all along. 

The truth settled on his shoulders with the weight of a yolk on a beast of burden. _This_ all of this-- _was_ his burden. All of his denial and the excuses he'd made were obliterated in a moment. Robin and Grima-- Robin with his memories or without them: he was still Robin. He was still Robin, and it was Chrom's inability to follow through that had trapped them in this fate: A fate that he would not abandon him to now. Robin, who he had loved more than anything, even when it was dishonorable for him to do so. 

"Forgive me," He said as he would have said to a playful rib from Robin. "I guess I lost my head." 

It was the first time that Chrom had shown any sign of mirth or playfulness since the start of this unholy debacle. For a moment, Grima was taken aback. He couldn't even enjoy watching Chrom undress like a demure bride on her wedding night. What had he done to put the man so at ease? His own fear was quietly eating him alive; fear that he could not so easily find where he ended and where Robin began. All of the memories that he had set out to defile made his heart twist and wrench-- as if they were his own. 

He _hated_ Chrom. He hated everything that Chrom stood for. He was going to hurt him just for daring to exist; for daring to remind him about anything from before. 

Grima continued to seethe just beneath the surface though his expression was outwardly calm. He drew in a gasp as Chrom approached him, something suddenly sweet in his expression. He hated it. Hated it, hated it-- 

He slapped Chrom's hand away and jabbed a finger at the steaming hot bath. "I said you were filthy. Go wash up before you have the nerve to touch me." 

That spark of something like hope that had found its way back into Chrom's expression then guttered like a candle being smothered, but he did as he was told and waded into the water even though the heat was agonizing to him. Grima watched the pain on his face, reveling in it, and stalked the edge of the bath as though he were a beast hunting his prey. 

He hated him. He was lovely; so, so lovely-- and the sound of his laugh was still so fresh in his mind. Grima shook his head violently. Wasn't he meant to assimilate Robin? To eat away at the empty shell that was to be his host until they were one and the same? But this wasn't what he'd signed up for. It contradicted everything Grima knew-- everything that drove him. 

Finally, he cast off his long coat and dropped it on the chaise at one end of the pool before kicking out of his boots. He wasn't sure that he'd meant to follow Chrom into the bath at first, but now he was burning with sensation and anguish that he couldn't name. It was need-- something like when the flow of his own power had aroused him before, but the _need_ he felt now was something else altogether. 

Chrom watched him unveil the body of the man he loved and this time, he didn't seem to want to fight it when the Exalt reached for him. Chrom almost felt alive when he touched him since he'd already soaked up so much heat. Almost. --And he'd been the one to kill him. 

_Gods, I killed Chrom,_   
_Yes, of **course** I did!--_

The turmoil in his mind continued to spiral in on itself, a dog chasing its own tail even as he crushed his mouth against Chrom's. The kiss was mostly teeth, and Grima broke away after a few moments, breathless. He grabbed a pitcher that sat ready at the edge of the bath and dipped it into the hot water before dumping it over Chrom's head. He winced at the shock and the sudden heat. 

"Wash your hair," He snapped.

"I would, but I can't get this thing off of my head." Chrom answered sheepishly. 

"I know, I put it there." Grima answered. 

"Then take it off for me." He complained, the same way he would've talked to any of the Shepherds in times now long gone. 

"I don't think you want me to do that." Grima sniped back, and proceeded to dip his hand into a glob of perfumed oil soap that he then slapped on top of Chrom's head, passing his wrist between the prongs that encircled him like an unholy halo. 

"Why?" He asked, a slight whine in his tone. 

"Because I said so." He refused to tell Chrom that it was disguising the source of what was keeping him animated-- that it was hiding the only thing that might be binding him to the mortal world. Grima didn't think Chrom would "kill himself" so to speak-- not with Lissa and Robin in play-- but he wouldn't take any chances of losing the only toy he cared about. 

Gingerly, Chrom reached up and scrubbed at his scalp as though this were just normal-- as if anything would be normal ever again. When he pulled away, His skin snagged on the sharp end of one of the spindles, just like he knew he might. Chrom hissed and watched as a thin rivulet of his darkened blood ran down his arm, a few drops reaching the water. He wrinkled his nose at the smell: metallic, but mixed with decay and something unnatural that he couldn't place. 

Suddenly, Grima was pressed close to him again, and brought Chrom's wrist to his mouth. His tongue passed his lips, a little longer than he thought it ought to be-- and lapped at the oozing liquid until the "blood" stopped, the wound starting to stitch itself together seemingly by Grima's will alone. 

"You've always been such a clumsy oaf. I don't know how you managed not to get yourself killed before I came along." He said, tone harsh and biting. 

Thtat time, Chrom did catch the slip up-- as if Grima and Robin's separate experiences were somehow melding into one another. He feared that the man he loved would be lost entirely and then reminded himself that they were two halves of a whole. Back and forth, back and forth he swayed in his mind: desperate to leap from the precipice so that he could feel the relief of acceptance wash over him, but unable to do so. 

There was something lacking in the element of what most people would have considered personal care-- though the act of rinsing soap from a lover's hair was a relatively tender action. The crown upon Chrom's brow made the whole thing a little unenjoyable, and he thought it was comically fairy-tale like to have a crown magically affixed to his head for all of time. He hadn't thought of Grima as so ham-fisted before, and it was a disarmingly humanizing thought. 

Grima sat the pitcher aside as he wiped the sweet-smelling soap suds from Chrom's shoulders absently with his hands before he nudged him back to the edge of the stone basin. The sound of running water, the spring that fed the castle tumbled like bells in his ears, and he thought it beautiful. It was odd that something like that could bring him any amount of pleasure when for so long all he had thought of was destroying everything. 

"I want you, Chrom," He said warmly. 

Chrom leaned back against the edge of the pool, its stone edge somehow grounding. His luminescent gaze flicked from Grima's hungry expression back to the spring's source, trying not to stare for too long. 

"You have me." He responded in a mumble. It was true, in every painful sense of the word. The water clinging to his hair dripped down his back and shoulders, making him shiver. 

Grima pushed closer until their chests were flush together, and the sensation mixed with the slickness of heat and water alone made goosebumps spread over his skin. Then, the Fell Dragon put his hands on Chrom's shoulders, pushing at him until he got the point-- and Chrom lifted himself from the water to edge back onto the cushions. Grima followed him in suit, climbing up between his legs like a beast come to drag its prey down to the watery depths. 

There was a peel of that mad laughter that Grima seemed prone to-- one of the things that set him apart as being _different_ from Robin's more quiet disposition-- and in a second, he had all but dumped one of the expensive looking bottles of bath oil onto Chrom's skin. It pooled, quivering with the tensed muscles of his stomach at his bellybutton. 

Grima dragged his hand through it and down the muscular plain of Chrom's stomach, coming to rest at the juncture between his legs.

"I think I'm going to fuck you, Chrom. Would you like that? Ah-- I guess it doesn't matter," There was that knife-sharp cruel edge in his voice.

"Gods," And in response, that typical answer of his that was almost embarrassing now for how predictable it was.

Chrom knew that he should have been filled with rage and revilement at the suggestion. It was Grima; he knew that the sick satisfaction he was getting out of this was all about defiling Naga's blood, about raping and sullying the divine-- but could he even be considered that anymore? His oil-slicked hand slipped past the base of Chrom's dick, gliding against the smooth, sensitive skin between the cleft of his cheeks. 

He shuddered and tried to disguise a groan, then realized with a sinking feeling that he didn't want Robin to have to watch him _suffer_ even more. He could prevent that, by suspending his spite and his rage; by accepting the obvious, malicious attempts at brainwashing Grima was making. 

The cushion dipped and depressed as Grima shifted over him, straddling his thigh while reaching towards one of many heavy drapes that covered the stone walls behind them, meant to help serve as insulation in a practical sense-- and with a strength that sent a cold chill down Chrom's spine-- ripped the long ornamental silk cording that tied it back loose. 

The Exalt's heart hammered in his chest as he watched the Fell Dragon wind the cord around his hand and wrist, and then drop down over him on all fours. Chrom was too enraptured by his own apprehension and fear to resist, but he knew he didn't really want to. His breath caught as Grima took his wrists and pressed them above his head before threading the rope through one of the ugly, wrought-iron wall ornaments that resembled the crown on Chrom's head. He didn't have time to stop and think about the questionable decorating choices of the Plegian royals-- not as Grima continued pulling the long cord through until it was taught, then pulled him up roughly with one hand. Chrom struggled to give him any leverage without his hands. 

"You always wanted to try this," He commented lowly with that deep rumble in his chest that was almost _too_ deep, too rich for a human's voice.

Another vivid memory, like the close call in the baths rushed back to him. They'd been in the library-- not the one in the castle, but the commoner's library. Robin liked it there, liked the books that came and went that weren't just religious texts and allegories but true life accounts of many things; some of them rather bawdy in their content. 

He remembered blushing as Robin brazenly leafed through a book depicting various poses of nude men with intricately knotted ropes binding them. Chrom had blushed furiously, stammered and asked why Robin was looking at something so depraved-- for research, of course he'd said; and because it was interesting. The smirk on his lips as he asked Chrom if he thought it was interesting too remained burned into his mind as Grima looked down at him, finishing off a tight series of knots that now adorned his chest. 

How did he know these techniques? The only answer was that they were somewhere in Robin's memory. He didn't just read the book, he'd practiced the rope tying-- and the thought left Chrom embarrassed and a little jealous. 

"Ah, look at you at my mercy." Grima mused.

"Wasn't I already, before?" Chrom asked, jaw set and gaze cast aside. 

"Of course, but now I can _see_ it." He responded.

The way the Fell Dragon's eyes watched him-- all of them-- made Chrom's skin crawl, and yet-- there was some level of excitement he felt in knowing that this was something that came from Robin's mind. 

Chrom ripped his eyes away from Grima's disconcerting gaze, instead focusing on the form that he had so grown to desire. He dragged his gaze over the curve of Robin's chest, the slope of his stomach and sides-- his full hips and thighs. He longed to touch them, had longed to touch them for longer than he could bear to admit. 

Grima parted Chrom's thighs and ran his fingers roughly over the soft skin there. He had all the look of hunger in his eyes that ought to be expected of an ancient being, starved and deprived and desperate for whatever it was he wanted. Chrom found with no lack of guilt, that he liked it. The awful gaping draconic eyes were something he could have done without, but Robin's sweet features were still mostly intact especially if he ignored the glow of his eyes. The color wasn't even that far off. His brain rattled off justification after justification until the moment that Grima, with glee, dug two oil-slicked fingers inside of him with little grace or gentleness. 

Chrom shuddered and winced at the sudden intrusion and tried not to look at Grima's face. He curled his fingers-- mostly just as a vehicle for spreading the oil about and brushed a spot that made the Exalt's legs tremble. A low laugh forced him to finally pry his eyes open, and he watched with stuttered breath as Grima dribbled more of that oil onto his dick, standing hard and twitching between his legs. It was big-- maybe too big-- but he had a feeling Grima didn't care. 

The first push was slow, making the initial stretching feel like an eternity. It wasn't that Grima was trying to be gentle-- that much he was sure of-- but that the sensation was so new that he was clearly reveling in it, awash in some madness that Chrom couldn't understand. He wasn't sure that he'd want to, anyway. 

When Grima was fully seated inside of him, Chrom felt him settle over the length of his body. He absently flexed his aching wrists in the confines of the rope and found no give, though he knew he could likely break them with his Risen strength if he really wanted. Like the beast he was, the Fell dragon planted his hands on either side of the Exalt's slowly cooling body and began to rut into him. 

His teeth ground together, gritted against the discomfort as he dug his heels into Grima's lower back for purchase. 

" _Chrom,_ " The voice was guttural and strange, suddenly more dragon than man. With something like that, he couldn't hide in the illusion of Robin. 

"Robin," The name came from his lips nearly unbidden; limpid and wavering like water. 

Grima snarled and bared his teeth-- suddenly seeming as though there were too many in his mouth somehow-- "Robin? You want Robin? You're so _stupid_ , Chrom." 

And suddenly the draconic features diminished entirely-- even the gaping eyes marring his beloved's face twisted away and vanished though the angry red lines they left behind remained. The miasma whipped away like smoke in the wind. The hips rolling against his did not stop, but suddenly _Robin_ began to weep. 

"I'm sorry, Chrom. Gods, I'm sorry-- forgive me, please, I'm-- I'm so--" His voice shook with exertion as he spoke, tears spilling down and splashing onto Chrom's chest. 

Chrom would have given anything to be able to comfort him; to pull him into his arms-- but Grima had seen to that as well. 

"Shh, it's okay. I'm okay. Robin-- I should have told you. I should have been with you. I've always loved you. _I'm_ the one who should be sorry." 

Despite the awfulness of the moment, a flush had crept into Robin's cheeks. He continued to apologize-- and Chrom could only assume that it was only his mind that had been allowed to float to the surface. In an act of cruelty that could hardly be compared, it was Grima that retained use of the body and limbs. 

Robin panted, gasping for breath as his body shuddered and shifted. Grima's hand found Chrom's throat and rested his weight against his windpipe as he continued to fuck into the Risen's pliant body. 

Despite the fact that he was dead and didn't really _need_ to breathe, the absence of such a basic function still filled him with panic and dread and his muscles clenched as he squirmed and forced ragged gasps against the weight. Robin continued to cry and plead in his hysterics-- and Chrom felt his eyes rolling back in his head, nearly blacking out before the beast released him. 

He laughed, Robin's big doe-eyes gone again as Grima roughly grabbed his hips and began to slam into him with bruising erratic force as he came buried fully inside of him. 

"What, the sight of darling Robin's tears aren't enough for you?" Grima asked, gesturing to the Exalt's neglected erection. 

"We're not all sick freaks like you," He snapped.

"Human bodies are _disgusting_ , I love it!" Grima mused, his lips turned into an almost kittenish smile as he gripped Chrom's cock at the base and gave it an experimental tug. He shuddered and turned his head away to burrow into his arm as if he could hide his visceral reaction to the stimulation. 

He could feel his muscles tightening and quivering as he drew in ragged gasps from his abused airway, pushing out Grima's cum with each gulp of air. He couldn't think of Robin after that-- not like this-- and he was sure that that was exactly what Grima had wanted. 

"Hmm..." Grima tilted his head, tiring of his lazy stroking-- and straddled Chrom's hips before seating himself firmly on the Risen's aching cock. 

Chrom's head fell back, lips parted in a low moan that he couldn't hide, overwhelmed by the tight heat wrapped around him as Grima began to lose himself in a cacophony of those strange bubby giggles he was prone to. The laughter of a mad man, was what it was, and he seemed to be in a state of euphoria or benediction as he impaled himself over and over again on Chrom's dick. 

The exalt watched half in horror, half in a haze of base lust as he fucked himself like that-- his hands braced on Chrom's thighs behind him. He watched him swell to full hardness again, leaking and dripping cum with each brush inside of him. There was nothing he could do; no amount of taking his mind away that could stop the overwhelming pleasure from winding tight until it snapped-- especially after being edged like that. 

He shivered and buried his face against his arm with a soft, keening cry as he came and Grima's bright eyes burned into him, watching every twitch of every muscle. Chrom shook and gasped, exhausted as he hadn't been since he could remember. He could hardly remember what being alive felt like-- and this was a different kind of tired. He groaned and watched through half-lidded eyes as Grima brought his face back down from where it had been upturned from the heavens and leaned over him. 

The Fell Dragon brought their lips together and kissed him as he finished himself off on the Exalt's chest. A kiss wasn't something he'd expected-- but somewhere in the back of his foggy mind he remembered the beast saying something about wanting to test the limits of his body. This was certainly above and beyond. 

Chrom had clearly no idea what kind of wild fixation could overtake an immortal being, starved of something he desired and yet had no name for. 

He felt as though he had nearly drifted to sleep already when his arms came loose. Grima had neatly pulled loose the first set of knots and then another-- but he left the black silk knotted around his throat, instead opting to snip it clean with one of their blades. It remained there like a collar for a beast, and when Chrom reached up to it, Grima slapped his hand away. 

"Leave it." He ordered, and then got to his feat, drifting back to the bath to clean himself up. 

"If you wash all of that filth off of you, I'll allow you to share my bed for the night." He added a moment later. 

It occurred to Chrom that he hadn't eaten like he'd said he would-- and wondered how often he forgot or didn't want to. How close did he push Robin's body to the breaking point? He was lost in these worries as he rinsed the bodily fluids from himself and then found a towel near the edge of the spring that fed the bath. 

He wanted to leave-- but he still had that image of Robin weeping and apologizing for what he was doing to him burned into his head. With that in mind, Chrom followed Grima to the massive bed and rather forcefully wrapped his arms around him. He buried his face in the Fell Dragon's shoulder, praying that Robin could feel it too.

Everything else could wait until his strength returned, and he prayed that Lissa was at least safe. He'd begin to try to find a way to free her as soon as the dragon's eyes were elsewhere. 

A few moments later, as though planned, there was a knock on the chamber's massive wooden doors. Grima snarled and got to his feet before grabbing his coat. He slipped it on to cover himself and stalked to the door, ready to snap at someone before the small voice on the other door announced itself. 

"Father? It's me." Morgan. 

Chrom wanted to keep his eyes open-- to listen in on everything being discussed, but he couldn't focus. He saw that the girl had brought a tray of food, at least-- and he felt some measure of peace with that as he drifted off.


	4. One by One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time that Chrom thinks he's witnessed the extent of Grima's cruelty, the Fell Dragon proves him wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long for this chapter! I got the flu and was sick for like 2 weeks and just. Busy in general. If you ever wanna know what I'm up to, check me out on twitter @brave_vesperian or on tumblr @bravevesperian.
> 
> I've been pretty busy with my novel in between everything else, too so. All work and no play etc. 
> 
> Let's see well. This whole thing just keeps getting more twisted and I'm not even sure where it's going to end up. Probably sick twisted rituals and ritual sex, ~~satanic~~ Grimleal orgies? knowing me.... likely. We'll see >.>

Chrom was surprised to find that nothing barred him from going to find Lissa in the dungeons. At least her cell was probably clean, and she was certainly being fed. At least she wasn't alone at the mercies of the hordes of undead out there-- that was what he comforted himself with, _alongside lying in Grima's bed_. 

He knew on some level that all of this was horrible and unimaginable, and that he ought to have done something more, but it seemed harder and harder to think correctly. Chrom lost track of everything else when he was being jerked around by Grima's whims, and since he had broken his initial refusal of contact, that had been near constantly. At first, Grima had been terribly frightening to him but now Chrom saw him more for what he was: an angry, spiteful eternal child who had been failed by those who had meant to love and care for him-- and now he was intent on making everyone pay the price while taking anything and everything that he wanted in he process. 

Perhaps Chrom forgot that he was in fact, dead-- and even as well preserved as he was-- his instincts were still that of a Risen, and his mind still inevitably that of a cadaver. 

The entire long walk down to he dungeons, he kept expecting someone to stop him. All this time, he had wallowed in the suggestion that he was a prisoner in his own body and in this place most of all. He hadn't realized just how much the forces present had declined from what he'd remembered them. There were long-term consequences to Grima's scorched Earth methods, and Chrom was beginning to see that he didn't recognize or foresee any of them. 

He couldn't have been more surprised as he began to realize that the Fell Dragon seemed unaware of how to even basically care for his vessel; _for Robin_ , let alone how to run the decaying empire he was so bent on building. 

The monotonous brown sandstone blocks stretched on until the walls turned to caverns, though Chrom couldn't tell if they were natural or not. The unpleasant smell of mildew assaulted him and he wrinkled his nose. He was unaccustomed to the sound of his armor in such a place, and to the weight of Falchion-- no, it wasn't Falchion anymore. It had become something else. 

Several Risen stood motionless along the lines of iron bars. They stared at nothing, their gazes mirroring his own, though their eyes themselves had rotted away long ago. It took Chrom several minutes of pacing the lines of cells before he found anything alive, and was relieved to find Lissa unharmed and in somewhat good condition. 

"Lissa." He hated the sound of his own voice, always rough as though it was unnatural in his own mouth, now. 

Chrom sank to one knee, his face a mask of sorrow and empathy as he looked across at her, watching her stir from a seemingly catatonic state. 

"Oh no-- No, no, no..." she moaned miserably, eyes wide as she shook her head at him. She looked like she'd begin to cry at any moment. 

Chrom looked behind him expecting to see some horror or another-- but there was nothing. Only himself. He turned back to Lissa, jaw slightly unhinged as he registered her terror and disgust. 

"Lissa please I-- Gods, I'm so sorry." 

She shook her head again and began to sob. "They killed my brother. They killed him," 

It felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of hot coals over his head. Chrom fell backwards and skittered back, to press into the darkness across from her cell, watching the flesh on his arms blister and crack. He'd screamed before he'd realized it and then ascertained far too late that Lissa had misguidedly tried to cast healing magic on him, even without a stave. Evidently a Risen's body couldn't abide such a thing. 

He cradled his stinging flesh to his chest, moaning weakly as a sudden burst of dark energy that couldn't quite be described as light overtook his vision. Out of nowhere in particular, Grima stalked into the space between them, his head lowered like a beast on the attack.

"Who did it? Who touched _my_ king? Who dared raise a finger against him?" The voice that tore through the room rattled the bars as if it might split the foundations of the place. Chrom was suddenly very aware of the massive presence that was Grima's true form though he could not see it. 

Lissa shrieked and sobbed and curled into the corner of her cell, babbling. "Robin? Oh gods, Why did this happen? Where did we go wrong? Someone anyone-- please--" 

Weakened by her accidental attack on him, Chrom shivered and sucked in air. He had wanted so much to help her, so much to bring her some kind of solace. 

"You? You did this?" Grima pointed at her incredulously. 

Slowly, the fallen exalt struggled to his feet against the pain and tried to approach Lissa again, ignoring Grima. 

"S-Sister, I-- I'm okay. I know you were trying to help--"

"Get away from me!" She shrieked, and Chrom supposed he couldn't blame her. He must look a fright more than he'd even realized. Grima glowered at Lissa and then turned back to Chrom, his teeth set with rage. 

"I'll deal with you later, _Naga's Blood_." He snapped and took Chrom into his arms, guiding him back the way he'd come. "First, I must undo this damage. Ungrateful little worm," he spat. 

If nothing else, Chrom was glad that his injuries could spare Lissa Grima's wrath for a time. He prayed he could placate him or come up with some way to free her before that window of opportunity closed. 

In a daze, Chrom let Grima lead him back to the bedroom and its decadent suite. He knew it wasn't necessary-- that the beast held his very life force in his hand. Grima laid him down and ran his fingers over the blistered skin of his forearms, magic pouring from his fingertips to restructure what Lissa had unknowingly destroyed. He clicked his tongue and shook his head as the agony died away and Chrom's labored breathing began to return to normal. 

"I'll drink my wine from that bitch's skull," Grima commented casually. 

"Don't. Gods, please don't. Don't hurt her anymore than she's already been hurt. I'm begging you." Chrom hated how weak he sounded; how weak he felt. 

Whatever it was in his tone, in his gaze, it seemed to minimally spark the Fell Dragon's interest, and he watched him down his nose. It was as if he was waiting for something, all but holding his hand out to demand it. 

Chrom's sluggish mind scrambled, and he for once, was thankful for his new instincts. _Serve your master._

"Please... Lord Grima. I'll. Do anything. Anything in exchange for her life. Just let her live." Chrom said, his voice trembling so much he was sure it would break. 

"Anything..." Grima responded, eyes a bit strangely wide as he suddenly crawled up the length of Chrom's body. It seemed too fast to be natural, too much like his draconic form in all of its long, undulating unpleasantness. It made the fallen Exalt shudder, but even he couldn't tell if it was with disgust or something more carnal. 

"Anything." Chrom answered miserably. 

Grima hovered over him, effectively pinning him to the bed as he examined his work, turning a hand over here, pressing a forearm into the mattress there-- as if to test how well they had mended. 

"She is Naga's Blood. It is in my best interest to remove her from this world. But for you, I will keep her. I will keep her tucked away somewhere safe and warmer than that cell, if you will do as I say." He cooed gently. 

Chrom answered with a desperate nod, and Grima gripped his wrists, pushing them down into the pillows behind Chrom's head to drive home just how powerless he was. 

"You will love me, Chrom. I have come to take everything I was denied, and so you _will_ love me. Not Robin. Robin doesn't exist. He never did, remember. You will love me and you will adore me. Serve me. Worship me. Remember that I am your God." 

Chrom's stomach twisted, and he was sure that if there had been anything in it he would have lost it then and there. Robin's eyes stared down at him, framed by that scarlet glow and the grotesque slitted things that passed for eyes along his cheekbones as well. He could all but feel the weight of the beast on him crushing him-- and he was sure that Robin was starting to look less and less human every day. Too many teeth. Too many eyes. Fingers elongating into claws-- how long before Grima really had swallowed him completely? 

There was no hope. There was no happy ending, for anyone. All he could do was prevent the inevitable. 

"Let me ask one more thing of you. Just one-- and I will be yours forever." Chrom said softly. 

"You're already begging my favor, and you dare ask for more?" Grima asked lowly, his lip curled. 

"Just let me... let me be with Robin. Just once. You can hurt me after if it makes you feel better. Let me... resolve this." He parsed the words out slowly, despair settling in his gut. 

Grima hated it. He hated the very notion of it. Chrom belonged to him: had always belonged to him, from the moment he, stripped of memory, had uttered his name. The fact that he longed for this shadow this-- shade of a creature was infuriating. But if he could stand to conjure forth his most hated other half, he would finally have all that he longed for. 

He wondered when it had become his driving force. It was likely that if only Robin hadn't wandered there that he would have been able to carry out his plan of obliteration unhindered. The dragon hummed and frowned, now more thoughtful than angry. 

"Mmm... I suppose it would be right of me. After all, he did nurture and strengthen this body for me all his life. And you will see, Chrom-- that he can never satisfy your Risen instincts. No, you will see it: That you are mine through and through." Grima smiled, transcendent, and nodded. 

For a few moments, a frighteningly hungry look took to the Dragon's face and he ran his hands roughly from Chrom's throat and down over the smooth expanse of his armor's chest-plate. The heated instance was interrupted by a familiar knock and a voice, exasperated or frightened. 

"Fath--erm-- Lord Grima! It's me, please can I speak with you?" Morgan's voice, the same as several nights before, cut into the room's ambience. 

Grima scoffed and bared his teeth, but finally removed himself from where he was straddling the fallen Exalt and rolled to his feet. Chrom was a bit slower getting up, and remained sagging at the edge of the bed, his feet flat on the floor. 

"Come in then." Grima answered in a flurry as he paced past the foot of the bed. 

The heavy chamber doors opened and Morgan swept into the room in a rush. They shut the door behind them and smoothed their hands over the front of their coat and shirt. 

Chrom found himself wondering why Morgan was still alive-- and still in one piece. He hoped that it meant there was a spark of some kind of humanity in the Fell Dragon-- that even he couldn't bear to kill his own child.

'Milord. I know you told me that... That governance of the Plegians and remaining Grimleal is to be my responsibility. But--"

"But?"

"The peasants began to riot today. They demand food and-- and compensation for the crops that were burned." Morgan began gingerly, head lowered. 

The Risen King felt a pang of genuine sympathy. He had for a time, known Morgan quite well. They weren't bad. Not really-- He had been sure all this while that they were under Grima's control until just very recently. Perhaps it had been this way all along, and like Robin, it took an awakening to the truth to bring it full circle. Chrom didn't want to think about it. 

When he looked up again he locked gazes with the would-be strategist, and his heart broke for the fear and uncertainty hidden there. 

Grima had stopped pacing, his expression strange. "They dare raise a hand against you, the speaker and mouthpiece of their God?" He asked slowly. 

"Th-there is also talk of a camp of rebels! Of Ylissean rebels!" Morgan offered suddenly as though to quell the dragon's rage. 

A wicked laugh came from deep in Grima's chest as he turned back to his child. 

"Is that so?" The pleasant sound of the water running in the room sounded like static to Chrom, and he tried desperately to hide how much his hands were shaking. 

"Yes. They are led by some of the former Shepherds, I'm sure of it." And Chrom wondered how long they'd sat on the information to have a trump card. He thought it was admirable to try to protect the common people from Grima's wrath, but at such a cost? 

"You will take Chrom, and you will bring them back to me. I will see them executed myself." He turned and stalked back across the room. 

"This will be how you prove your love to me. You no longer need them, Chrom." He smiled that sweet smile again-- Robin's smile but with too many teeth. 

Grima flitted around the room as though he were suddenly in a wonderful mood, and danced on his toes to move behind Morgan. The Fell Dragon gripped the young strategist's chin suddenly, holding them still as they struggled slightly out of pure shock. 

"Do you think Morgan's pretty Chrom? I hope so. You see, I'm going to need a back-up vessel, and I think they're perfect-- and soon enough, they'll have to make a new vessel for me. This one won't last forever after all." 

Chrom didn't answer, too pre-occupied with his stomach turning again-- so much so that he actually retched, though nothing came out. 

Grima laughed, the sound echoing back off of the walls like bells as he let Morgan go, stumbling for balance. 

"Go on, then! Get busy before I decide that your sister looks like a good breeder!" He cackled, and Chrom exchanged a look with the still shaken Grimleal before gladly fleeing the room. 

His armor rattled as he moved, giving over to some of the Risen's instincts to keep himself from sinking further into despair. 

"Lord Chrom," Morgan called out to him as they tried to keep up and after another try Chrom rounded on them angrily. 

"Yes?" He snapped. 

"I'm sorry." Chrom shook his head at the would-be strategist by way of denying his apology. 

"There will be no one left when he's done." Chrom said bitterly as he continued the march towards the blistering desert heat outside. 

"That's... kind of the point." Morgan answered glibly. 

"Why did you side with him? Why are you doing this?" He demanded. 

"I love my father. The father that _I_ know. I... don't care about anything else." Morgan didn't sound terribly confident about that. 

He knew what it was like to be willing to do anything for that man, but this? This was beyond the pale. Chrom felt like he was being torn to pieces. Every moment of every day was agony for him, and he couldn't end it. No matter if he threw himself from the parapets or fell on his own sword-- Grima just repaired his twisted limbs and scoffed at him. There was no end to this hell, no end to the torment and loss. Maybe it would be better if he could only be like Morgan and care for nothing but Robin-- nothing but the fact that he lived on somewhere inside of the evil beast tearing their entire world apart. 

\-------------------

Henry hadn't planned on going out quite like this. He'd expected it to be more sudden, and for Grima's destruction to be more absolute. This just felt like more war-- the only difference was that most of them were dead, save for the handful huddled around a guttering fire for warmth. They didn't dare build anything bigger. 

Frederick sat with his back to the flame on a fallen log, and Henry found himself staring at his face. Ah, poor Frederick. He was sure that right now that he was listening for sounds in the woods since he could no longer see well enough to keep watch properly. It had been a terrible blow, but he was adapting. It was fascinating to watch. That was why he kept checking in on him-- not a fondness or anything like that, no-- not at all. 

They'd lost contact with Lissa's group some time ago, and Frederick had hardly slept since. Nearby, Ricken and Maribelle sat in silence, staring emptily into the darkness. They didn't talk much, since Vaike and Stahl had bit the big one. Henry supposed it was sad, but he just couldn't put the oomph into morning like they did. Something inside of him itched and pulled day in and day out and he couldn't tell what it was. It was driving him mad-- something was calling him, and he didn't like it. 

Leaning against his own stump of choice, he'd nearly managed to fall asleep when he thought he glimpsed a light in the distance. Bright red. Bad news. 

He sat up a little straighter, spell tome pressed between his thigh and the palm of his hand when he saw it again-- and again. The eyes of Risen blazing to life in the forest around them. 

Henry scrambled to his feet, heart hammering. 

"They found us. There's like... a ton of them so you better be ready to play." He said as pleasantly as he could. 

The party was exhausted, but they responded quickly as they always did. He heard Maribelle scream first, and then he turned at the sound of heavy footfalls as Chrom barreled straight into him and drove him to the ground so hard it knocked the breath from him. 

He was sure it was Chrom-- but something wasn't right. He harshed and wheezed the same way the Risen did, and as Henry squirmed uselessly beneath the bulk of the fallen Exalt's armor, he saw him draw back and part his lips. Henry let out a shriek out of pure shock more than anything-- a sound he wasn't entirely sure he even knew how to make-- as Chrom's hands tore into his cloak and then his teeth into his shoulder, blood gushing over his lips and down Henry's front. 

"Chrom, no! No, _stop!_ He'll be so angry if you kill him!" It was another familiar voice that he heard somewhere through the haze, and Morgan came into view as they pried Chrom away from him. 

Chrom seemed to be catching his breath, panting wildly as Henry desperately tried to get his bearings. Ricken and Maribelle lay in a heap, their limbs twisted at odd angles. It was a shame-- he really did enjoy their company. It must've been Morgan's doing, he realized. 

The Risen he had seen before remained in the darkness, countless eyes staring out at them as Frederick tried to get his friends to answer him. He swung blindly with his axe, and Chrom froze, his voice a rasp, but recognizable none the less. 

"Frederick?" 

The man froze in his tracks, blinking his ruined eyes at nothing in particular. "Lord Chrom...? It can't be." 

"Gods, no, why did it have to be you?" Chrom seemed to remember himself suddenly, and he sank wearily to his knees. "Gods what have I done?" 

"Well, You must have been super duper hungry." Henry chimed in helpfully. "So, can _you_ tell me how Risen work now?" 

"Lord Chrom," Morgan lowered their voice. "I'll let you bring Frederick back with you, and-- Henry must be taken alive. Lord Grima will want him." 

Henry's demeanor changed suddenly at that, his expression somehow going colder. "I won't help Grima, if that's what you think."

Chrom stood, looking haunted near the corpses of his friends. It was understandable that he was shell shocked. Henry looked ready to bolt, and Morgan calmly lifted their hand over the royal purple tome they carried, summoning a chain made of energy that wrapped itself around him. 

"Father says he needs to think about the future. You'll do." Morgan smiled sweetly, and began to lead the reluctant sorcerer back the way they'd come. 

"Bring him, Chrom. You'll make Lord Grima so very happy." 

"What is the meaning of this?" Frederick asked even as Chrom approached him. 

"I'm... sorry. I'm just... I'm glad you can't see me like this." He answered. 

Frederick, ever obedient, put his hand into Chrom's cold gauntlet and walked with him, uncaring if he was being led to his doom.


	5. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grima almost appears to be a benevolent god. At the very least he keeps his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to handle all of the positive comments on this fic. I'm genuinely in awe. I appreciate every one of the comments I've received so far!

The fire crackling sang a melody that harmonized with the sounds of laughter surrounding it. The mood had been subdued at first-- everyone was still feeling out Chrom's mood. Some time had passed since he had lost his sister and had to step into the shoes of Exalt, and there had been so many trials and heartaches along the way. But there was the growing ranks of the Shepherds to soothe his wounds. He found solace in the fact that though he had lost something so terribly important, he had no shortage of family. 

Chrom followed the sound of incessant giggling through the bending and flickering shadows and found Robin siting on an overturned crate with Lissa, hunched over an old book together. The boy was always scavenging such things when they passed through towns and villages, though he rarely was able to carry too many for too long before he had to cut his losses. At this point, there were probably caches of old books stored in carefully hidden chests scattered across the whole continent because of him. 

Unable to stymie his curiosity, Chrom marched over, ready to scold his friend if he was sharing one of those more bawdy tomes they'd come across with his sister. At first, he had been prepared to intervene immediately until he saw the way that Lissa leaned against Robin; the way she lowered her thick eyelashes at him and smiled. That was a face he'd only rarely seen before coming from her, and it made him suddenly flush as if he'd intruded on something intimate that he wasn't welcome at. 

Before he could make his escape though, Robin saw him and his face lit up as their gazes brushed against each other with all the electricity of skin on skin. His lips parted and the laughter stopped as Lissa turned to look up at him as well. A near sigh of relief left him as he realized that Panne was nearby lingering, perhaps to get in on the jokes, though she'd not admit it. 

The moment of awkwardness passed and Lissa flagged him down with both hands, waving him over. "Come look at this joke book Robin found. You should definitely try out some of these sword moves with Falchion. You'd look _amazing_." She said, barely holding back another peel of laughter. 

It was _so_ good to see her laughing again after so many tears. He'd have to thank Robin later. 

Chrom tried to push away the jealousy he'd felt as brotherly concern-- the dislike of the thought of his best friend making eyes at his baby sister-- knowing that it was really far more than that. The thought made his throat close with anguish. 

Chrom had to wipe that away and school his expression as he approached with a good-natured if not somewhat sheepish grin. He sat at their feet and hid the hitch in his breath when Robin leaned forward, snaking his arms around his shoulders to hold the book in front of him. 

Despite himself and the gloom that had settled in his chest, he couldn't help but laugh at the silly poses and the way that Robin and Lissa tried to re-enact some of them. He'd manage to lull away the bitterness gnawing at the roots of his heart as Robin helpfully posed him to match a very silly looking drawing of a heroic man with a sword-- and then reached to lift Falchion. 

The sound of a yelp split the warm atmosphere and returned the overarching sense of anxiety to the trio. Chrom caught a glimpse Panne where she stood in the shadows of the nearby tree, her arms crossed, watching. There was something foreboding-- almost frightening about her gaze even as Robin nursed his hand. 

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, Falchion's always very sharp-- you should be careful." Chrom turned to his friend and examined the thin cut on the inside of his palm. It bled in only a trickle, but didn't seem to want to mend even when Lissa gave it a gentle tap with her stave. 

"It's alright, it's fine-- just a little scratch. Don't worry about it, okay?" Robin smiled gently, though there was something tired and frightened in his usually steady gaze. 

He got up and left abruptly after that, and Chrom sat, leaning against Lissa's thin legs. She pet his hair and assured him that everything was going to work out, though he felt something in his chest blooming like dread. Panne's gaze felt like a warning; like it knew things that he couldn't begin to know-- and he didn't like the implications. 

Alone in the shadows not far away, Robin cradled his hand, his back pressed to a tree trunk in the darkness. His breath came in shallow gulps as he stared at the wound. He'd barely touched the thing. He was around swords all the time he knew better-- why? Why had it cut him as though it was the sword's will to do so? 

A smile and a rumble of something deep inside of him floated up through the murk of his own consciousness. _"You know why."_

Robin retreated to his tent, his head hidden in his bedroll, though sleep eluded him that night.   
\--------------

Everything had gone numb for Chrom upon returning to the castle. Morgan was sent to secure Henry somewhere in the vast halls, who was assured he was being given a lovely suite-- which was what Chrom was told Lissa had been moved to somewhere in the yawning empty space, likely to keep him from looking for her again too soon. 

Chrom stayed by Frederick's side, refusing to give him up, refusing to let Grima close to him though-- he wasn't trying, either. Grima sat upon his throne, his elongated talons sprawled dangerously on the arms of the carved stone. 

"This truly is a gift, Chrom. I thought you'd do _anything_ to keep your precious retainer away from me.You have indeed proven your love." In his own mind, he was-- simply by putting himself between Grima and the man in question. 

"Robin? Is that you? What's going on, Lord Chrom won't tell me anything--"

"Not Robin, dear Frederick." The knight was silent, though Chrom knew that he was acknowledging that they had indeed-- very much failed. Failed to protect the world, failed to protect the Exalt. Failed at everything. 

Frederick's sightless gaze wandered, trying to pinpoint the source of Grima's voice in the cavernous room, but the echoes made it difficult. The vague light and shadows he was able to perceive just weren't enough. 

"You're running out of attendants here at the castle." Chrom started suddenly, his voice rough as had become its usual mode. "He'll serve me as always if you let him." 

"And what good is a blind man as a servant?" Grima scoffed. 

"It's Frederick," Chrom bit back. 

Grima chuckled. "Yes, he always was a stubborn one, wasn't he? Ah-- I get it. He doesn't know, does he? You probably think he's better off blind."

That wicked smile full of too many teeth stretched across Robin's distorted face, and Grima slipped down to his feet, light as a feather as always-- as if he were just gliding. Chrom stepped in front of him, teeth gritted as if he alone were enough to stop the dragon's path. 

"I'm not going to hurt him, Chrom. You should be grateful. I had every intention to execute whoever you found. But this is... more satisfying." 

"Execute?!" Frederick choked an echoed exclamation of disbelief as Grima slid past Chrom and laid his fingertips gently against Frederick's cheeks, trailing up to his temples. 

"Now, now-- be still or my claws might find you in worse shape than you started." He hummed pleasantly, and Frederick, too shocked to do much else, did as he was told. 

Chrom watched as more of that now familiar dark miasma poured out of Robin's body, as if with each overuse of the Fell Dragon's power, his human vessel began to more closely resemble his other self. In a burst of energy that could not quite be called light, He suddenly gained the vestiges of horns, curving down and forward at the sides of his head. Even Chrom stepped back, disturbed-- and that same not-light danced over his taloned fingers, igniting across Frederick's skin. He winced and hissed, but held his position: ever the good soldier. 

Frederick blinked, a strange light inhabiting his once rather ordinary brown irises-- that same deep violet that seemed to seep from within Robin at times. He blinked again, and again, and then suddenly yelped, trying to wrench himself free from Grima's grip-- where he had clutched Frederick's arms to stop his retreat. It had to have been a harrowing sight after seeing nothing for what was surely weeks and months. 

"It's okay-- relax, it's. It's okay." Chrom tried to soothe him, though he was still blocked from approaching fully due to Grima's intervention. Frederick's gaze lifted, freezing on Chrom's transformed visage as well. 

"Gods-- you were dead. I thought I was going mad-- you... _you were dead_..." He shook his head, and Grima looked as though if one could physically feed off of the despair someone felt, he would have gorged himself in that moment. 

Somehow it didn't hurt Chrom as much as it had the first time, from Lissa. He bowed his head in some form of apology, but somewhere deep in his mind he was beginning to understand what Grima was doing. He had kept his word as far as he knew: Lissa was safe and cared for. He had even showed mercy in allowing Frederick to live, though healing his injuries had been more an act of cruelty than anything else. And still, Chrom was alone. He was an abomination: the very thing that he and the Shepherds had spent years fighting against. 

No matter if time gave them the ability to accept him, that fear-- that disgust-- would always linger, and Chrom would "outlive" them all. Robin: no, Grima, was all that he had, even surrounded by the survivors of his "family."

It wasn't just isolation: it was isolation as a _tactic_ perfected. Chrom knew it now for certain-- no one else, not even his own family-- would ever want him again. But Grima? Grima wanted him. Grima _coveted_ him like he was a treasure beyond compare. 

He drew in a shaking breath, feeling his heart icing over even further. 

Chrom stepped forward and gently gripped Grima's elbow. The Fell Dragon wheeled on him, ready to fight him; to lash out for being questioned. Chrom shook his head gently, and something in his expression gave Grima pause. His posture relaxed slightly, and he loosened his grip on Frederick, who half stepped, half stumbled backwards several paces to catch his breath. 

Chrom slipped his free hand between the bony curve of horn that had appeared, careful of the many eyes as he lightly stroked Grima's cheek.< i>Robin's cheek. 

"Enough. It's enough. All of this. Let him go to Lissa, that's what he wants. I'm tired, Robin." Chrom said slowly, and he was-- weary to the bone. 

"I can't... guarantee their safety out there. The world-- my world-- is a scary place." He cooed. 

Chrom didn't look at Frederick. He couldn't bear it. He only saw Grima. "I know. Let them choose. I know it's hard. But I don't think they'll do anything to hurt us." 

As Chrom grew colder, something in Grima seemed to defrost, as though seeking some kind of balance. He turned and glanced at Frederick, sighing and seeming oddly bored. 

"You can go. Lissa's in the east wing, if you care enough to reunite with your darling." Grima waved it off, suddenly very bored with the idea of torture. 

"About Henry and Morgan--" Frederick started, and Grima's attention snapped back to him. 

"They're my blood. They belong to me. You're lucky you're _walking_ out of here-- do not forget that I can be a benevolent god, do you understand?" He hissed, and the force of it made the room tremble palpably. 

Frederick stood frozen for several moments jaw twitching as he tried to make a choice; tried to decide on something, anything-- and then turned on his heel. Whatever was left of Chrom's belief in the others, in anyone but the Fell Dragon's desire for him shattered with that singular motion. 

He had given him the last gift that he could in placating Grima enough to spare them. There was no more that he could do-- and letting go of all of the tension he'd carried for weeks brought a madness that was something like relief. 

Without another thought, he buried himself against Grima's chest, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. The Fell Dragon was motionless for a moment, truly as though he didn't know what to do with himself-- and then he embraced Chrom, holding him close and stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. 

"My love, my _king_ \-- my most beloved masterpiece. I will never look at you like that, never ever." He tittered gently against Chrom's ear. 

Chrom's shattered heart soothed with ease at that promise, knowing that it was one truth that the Dragon could promise. "I know." 

He knew that it was all in part manufactured. He knew that he had become everything that his loved ones hated and loathed, even though his mind insisted that he was still the same man beneath it. Was he? The thought of Henry's blood on his tongue suddenly surged back to the forefront of his mind. No. He wasn't the same at all. 

Grima had waited for this, longed for it so deeply that he didn't know what to do with himself in the face of Chrom's ultimate surrender. He wondered if he had deluded himself; if he had imagined it in his longing-- but Chrom was supple in his arms, the cool metal of the iron band around his head almost soothing where it pressed against Grima's shoulder. Robin... well, it wasn't so bad, to have that name. It was beneficial to him to remind Chrom that they were one and the same, even as he internally rebelled against the notion. 

They walked the long path through the hallways with hands clasped, arms intertwined like fresh-faced lovers as they leaned into each other. Grima rested his head against Chrom's shoulder as they walked in time, muttering to each other. He found he didn't even much mind the feeling of his horn pressing against him. Chrom no longer noticed or cared when the few remaining living attendants skittered out of their path or pressed themselves against the walls-- or fell to their knees to pray at the sight of their god and his consort. 

For the first time in what felt like ages, Chrom stripped out of his armor-- something that he had at first thought of as a mark of his servitude, of the evil thing he lived _in service_ to. The weight off of him revealed places on his shoulders where the plate had rubbed him raw, but he hadn't noticed. 

Grima looked up at him, clicking his tongue. Though his face was more distorted than ever, he somehow looked more like Robin than he remembered, or maybe that was just he delusion keeping Chrom sane. 

"Ugh. I shouldn't have to be the one to remember to wash you. Were you never taught to take care of yourself?" It was something Robin would have warmly chided him over. Chrom looked a bit embarrassed. 

"And _you_ don't remember to eat unless I force you to." He answered as the Fell Dragon continued to check him over. 

"I suppose." A soft chuckle answered him, and Chrom reached out, passing his fingers through Robin's hair. 

He leaned in, breath ghosting against his lover's lips before he pressed their skin together experimentally. Grima always felt so warm to him; almost unbearably hot in comparison to his own cold, clammy skin. It only made Chrom want him even more. 

If Grima had been baffled before, he was all but frozen by the fallen Exalt's sudden advances. He'd expected to always have to force him, to play this awful game for as long as they lasted. His heart ached as Chrom took him into his arms, holding him as if he weren't the visage of a draconic abomination with absolutely no fear of his horns or the fearsome eyes that stared out at him. 

"Chrom..." It was Robin's voice breathed against his lips. He held that fact in his trembling heart as he smoothed some of the pale hair back from his face. 

"I'm here." He said softly. 

"I know," Robin answered.

"I want you," 

"You have me." 

Chrom remembered the sound of Robin's laughter-- his ornery, knowing smirk--and his heart twisted, clenched like a fist in his chest as he pressed closer to him. Robin kissed him again and then suddenly stepped back. Chrom braced himself, but Robin only smiled and tilted his head. 

"Let me change into something more comfortable." He said, the hint of a chuckle on his lips as he spoke-- and Chrom clung to it like the only light in his life. 

That miasma and its violet glow enveloped him-- and when he stepped back out of it, Chrom's heart nearly stopped. He was Robin as he remembered him; no blemish or malformation to be seen. He went weak in the knees, and all but stumbled into his open arms. 

He had held back for years what was bubbling up in him in that moment. He had done all that he was told to do; married, sired children, carried the Hero-King's blood and done his duty. He had done all he was told to do and still fallen, still had it ripped away when all he had ever wanted had been at his side. Chrom no longer cared about where Robin ended and Grima began. Chrom no longer cared if he'd _never_ be able to separate Robin from the harbinger of destruction that had slaughtered thousands again. Robin was Robin, and he was there, and that was all that mattered. 

Robin was _there_ , in his arms, dragging his nails down his back and taking shuddering breaths through the messy, desperate kisses they were sharing. 

There was still plenty of guilt, plenty of pain-- but most of it was suspended now, lost somewhere in the wash of longing for what he was never able to have before. After experiencing anguish for so long, the human mind could become terribly weak to even the smallest glimpse of relief. 

Chrom would remember that Grima had kept his word. 

Robin's hands clutched at the roughspun tunic that Chrom wore under his armor, careful of the wicked spikes that adorned his head even as he peeled him out of it. Chrom had thought that nothing could match his own hunger in that moment until he felt Robin arch up against him, his mouth on his throat before Chrom pushed him back against the bed only to tumble onto it. 

Blindly, Chrom's hands pushed and pulled at Robin's clothing, the roomy coat shed easily before he pulled up the fabric underneath, letting it roll up and twist at his throat. He had forgotten how deeply-seated his attraction to this man was until seeing him like this again. It always seemed to come back in waves when it did. Those soft, doe-like brown eyes looking up at him, glazed over with want and his perfect skin blushing a soft pink was almost too much. 

Cool fingers trailed down Robin's chest and stomach, feeling the denseness of his musculature beneath soft skin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was a little too wiry-- he could feel his ribs a little too clearly, and he must remember to make sure he was eating better from here on out-- 

But finally, those thoughts of the agony he'd been in for weeks were gone and replaced by his only solace. No use lingering on all of that now. There was only Robin and the sound of his breath hitching, the touch of his warm fingers on Chrom's arms. 

"I've... I've wanted you like this for so long--" Robin said, and Chrom was relieved that it was still his voice, still human, still _him_. 

"I know. Gods, I hoped, at least," Chrom's voice wavered. "I'm a terrible man--"

"You're the best man I know. And I suppose-- I suppose we're both terrible. There's no saving us now." Robin said, a hint of mourning in his tone. 

Something about that solidified Chrom's ever wavering resolve. For Robin, he was sure he could find it in himself to tear down what was left of the world with his own hands if he had to. He feared that Grima knew this. 

The tension of the moment remained even as belts were unclasped and skin was bared. He'd wanted everything to be perfect, but he wasn't even really himself-- even though Robin at least looked it. Chrom kept apologizing for the cold of his skin, watching goosebumps rush over his lover's flesh as he did. 

"I don't want to be saved," Robin said suddenly, though the words had been dead on Chrom's lips for long enough that he looked confused for a moment before making the connection. 

"Oh Chrom," A shuddered gasp as Chrom's hands parted his thighs. " _Chrom_ , Gods--" 

"I've hardly touched you," Chrom answered, his tone almost playful. Robin flushed darker and turned his face into the pillows to hide. 

He was precious and sweet-- he was everything that the Risen King had ever imagined he would be. 

"Even if this is what we are... if I can be with you always--" Chrom muttered, and he let out a shuddering breath as Robin wrapped himself around him. 

"Always." Robin answered.

The Exalt felt Robin move against him, and he slipped his hand between their bodies, stroking them both in time with their movements. Robin gazed up at him, his eyes heavily lidded as he leaned into the friction. His fingers gripped at Chrom's shoulders as he tried to regulate his breathing, tried to soften the moans and gasps on his lips only just barely drowned out by the sound of running water ever-present in the room. 

"You're so beautiful," Chrom's voice shook with the emotion welling up in him, his eyes burning even as Robin squirmed against him, shushing him with gentle touches. 

"Slow... I. I don't want this to end yet. I want to feel you... inside of me." He slid his palm down Chrom's chest and stomach, causing him to shudder violently at the sensation. 

"Are you sure?" He breathed, trying not to think about Grima's cruelty that first night. 

Robin smiled and nodded, his expression open and vulnerable enough to all but break the Risen's heart into a million pieces. He offered them up to him immediately. "Yes. I'm sure. I've never been so sure." 

He wouldn't say how he had to take the chance no matter what-- that there might not be a next time. 

The strategist rolled onto his stomach and stretched toward the head of the bed to retrieve one of the bottles of oil that always seemed to populate the surfaces of the sideboards and pushed it into Chrom's palm. It was hard to think straight at all with Robin beneath him like that, but he was ready; more ready than he'd ever been for anything else. 

After slicking himself with a bit more of the oil than he might have needed, he moved forward on his knees to position himself, and Robin folded his arms beneath his head. Chrom dug his fingers into his thighs as Robin slid himself onto his cock, and trembled at the effort it took not to lose his mind. 

"Don't hold back, Chrom-- please." Chrom gave him an incredulous look, and then Robin met his eyes over his shoulder, gazes locked. "Fuck me." 

A shudder ran down his spine, and Chrom rolled his hips forward with a low groan until he was buried inside of Robin's tight heat. 

Like the feral thing he had become he began to move, rutting into Robin like his life depended on it. Each movement drew mewls and cries from his parted lips, hips and back arched as he rocked back to meet Chrom's thrusts, his hand pressed beneath them but not allowing himself any true relief just yet. 

Wild and erratic they moved together, words forgotten as skin slapped harshly against skin. When Robin came suddenly he was nearly startled by it and Chrom slowed his movements, concerned. Robin shook his head, panting. 

"Don't stop." He pleaded. Chrom raised an eyebrow and gladly obliged the request, aching for his own release.

 

Morning light had not yet quite peeked through the high windows of the room when Chrom finally collapsed onto his side, trembling and aching and more than spent. Robin looked as though he might fall asleep on the spot, his hair slicked back by sweat. They were a mess of fluids and bruises, the echoes of love bites trailed over neck and chest and shoulder. 

He drew gentle nonsense shapes on Robin's back as he curled against him, not caring for the heat that made their skin stick together. Chrom seemed to be in high spirits that he hadn't known in far too long. 

"So... How many times was that?" He mused, clearly a bit proud of himself. 

"I think I lost count." Robin answered, his voice muffled by the exalt's neck. 

"And you're supposed to be our strategist." Chrom teased, and they laughed for a blissful moment. 

"Sorry," He chuckled and pulled back to look at him in silence. "...I love you."

"I love _you_ ," Chrom answered, and Robin yawned. "Rest my love. I'll be right here." 

A blissful smile rested on Robin's face as sleep inevitably claimed him. Chrom tried to stay awake to watch him, tried to burn every detail-- every freckle and pore of his face-- into his mind. But he was no match for the exhaustion they'd wrought. 

\-----------

Chrom awoke from his empty dreams, sweet and dark and welcoming, to the sound of water splashing softly in the bath. It was Grima, he was sure-- the malice and the newly sprouted horns made his silhouette undeniable. His own mind was bogged down and fuzzy with the warmth of sleep and the comfort that came from a night of satisfying love making. 

He nearly turned over and went back to sleep before he realized that the soft splashing was actually limbs thrashing and that Grima was calmly-- _effortlessly_ \-- holding someone's head under the water.


	6. Broken Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for EXTREMELY dubious consent on one party's end, and all out mind-control non-con for another. I know it's tagged as thus, but. Extra warning. This chapter's really dark. Sorry for surprise Henry, he keeps sneaking into my writing :/
> 
> \---  
> Grima's bizarre and cruel whims keep turning everyone in circles but is there a reason for it all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally couldn't sleep until I got this chapter worked out.

Chrom's body moved before he could think.

He rolled to his feet and vaulted half-way across the room. His feet carried him the rest of the way slapping against cold stone until he reached the edge of the bath. Sucking in a gulp of air, he then threw himself into the water and bodily tackled Grima. With as much strength as he could muster, he crushed the Fell Dragon to his chest, wrenching his hands and arms away from whoever he was throttling and ignored the blinding, searing pain that he received in return.

Grima tore at his flesh, the blackened not-quite-blood-anymore that pumped through Chrom's veins running down his skin and into the water as he watched _Henry_ claw his way out of the water and fall limply onto his stomach beside the bath, coughing and vomiting the water he'd drawn in.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Stop!" Chrom's voice rose, and the castle shuddered with the movement of its most massive resident nested atop it, stirred by the sense of his earthly vessel in some form of danger.

Grima shrieked a wordless cry of rage and shoved Chrom away from him. The fallen Exalt stumbled momentarily, but then grabbed him by the shoulders a moment later. Grima slapped and clawed viciously at his hands, teeth bared and the awful crimson glow of his many eyes flaring.

"He tried to kill me, Chrom. He tried to _kill_ me--"

Henry was still choking, rasping, barely able to breathe let alone do anything else. He was at Grima's mercy now.

"Can you blame him? Can you blame any of them, Grima?" Chrom demanded exasperated as he pressed a palm to his bleeding shoulder. He realized then that he'd leaped to the rescue in the nude without thinking. Well, he supposed he could've let the boy die if he'd really had time to be embarrassed.

He realized then that it may have been the first time he'd called Grima by name without any difficulty, and it seemed to have had the desired impact. The Fell Dragon looked at Chrom, mouth slightly agape, as though he couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to do what he'd done.

Chrom gave him a look of frustration and threw his hands up before moving to Henry's side where he'd collapsed. He patted the struggling mage's back through his sopping robes and tried to encourage him to keep coughing up the water he'd aspirated. Something in his bones told him that Grima's rage wasn't going to be calmed so easily, and that he was going to have to brace himself for something more horrible than he'd yet had to endure. The night before had been too good and far too kind.

"G-Guess I messed up." Henry whispered hoarsely.

"What were you thinking?" Chrom chided.

"I mostly wanted to see how he _made_ you. No offense to the previous you of course. _And_ \-- he's cramping my style. This kind of thing isn't fun at all."

 _Same old Henry, it seemed._ Weirdly fearless and unfazed by his body's distress. It was also jarring to find that it was him who had come to his 'rescue' and not those who he had thought were closer to him. Chrom hated the selfish disappointment it made him feel, and the uncertainty in regard to what was really going through Henry's mind. But-- he'd never really understood Henry.

"I really should kill you, but doing so would be rash." Grima spoke again for the first time in what felt like a while, and Chrom looked back at him, exasperated.

Henry wheezed, his lungs rattling as he pulled in another breath. His expression was as pleasant as ever, though there was something sharp and threatening about his weak smile. The fact that he could keep up the act even now was disconcerting, but he supposed-- Henry may have experienced even worse than this in his youth.

"Henry's such a simple minded creature, don't you think?" Grima's mood seemed to have changed suddenly and that concerned Chrom more than his violent mood before. He looked absently down at himself and the stinging cuts on his chest and arms.

 _"_ Simple minded creatures only need a bit of guidance, like horses must be broken." He continued to muse. "You like Henry, don't you Chrom? Oh, you're so soft, you like just about everyone though."

Chrom had frozen in place where he was trying to tend to the ailing boy while also hiding his nakedness beneath the shifting waters of the opulent bath. Grima seemed to have no such level of modesty, as he glided slowly towards them. Chrom found him more frightening when he was like this than he was in a rage. He almost preferred the latter.

Henry, still slightly glazed over in his expression, was staring up at Chrom. Ignoring Grima's ramblings, he rasped a sigh and said: "That crown really doesn't suit you, Chrom."

In the tension, he was reminded suddenly of how when he'd spotted Henry out there in the forest-- in the dark: he had smelled like food-- like something unbearably sweet and savory all at once. He was transfixed for a moment, staring at the bare skin of his arm where his robes had clung to his skin and crept up.

"Get used to it." Grima said, suddenly at Chrom's shoulder. He reached up and gripped a prong of the crown in question and jerked the fallen Exalt back by it. If only it hadn't been somehow magically affixed to him, it would've come off-- instead, it was able to lever him backwards enough for Chrom to lose his footing and flounder in the water for a few moments. It stung the cuts littered across his skin, and more than anything-- it pissed him off.

When he was able to right himself, spluttering, he got to his feet and squared his shoulders. "Stop it. This is all pointless. Don't you get it? You're not achieving anything. _All you're doing is hurting people."_

"It makes _me_ feel better." He said, a too-pleasant smile on his face that nearly mirrored Henry's.

Henry had sat up, and was looking like he might take an opportunity to flee at any moment. It would've been wise, if not highly unlikely that he'd actually manage to get away.

"Don't you care that he tried to kill me?" Grima demanded, looking back at Chrom.

He was taken aback by the question. Chrom floundered with his words rather than his l _imbs for a moment, embarrassed that Grima had managed to strike a nerve._

"Of course I care. I-- Gods, I could never make the choice. I could never do it even though I had to. You know that." He answered, looking away.

"You don't care if he destroys the world?" Henry's hoarse voice intruded on him again, but he didn't seem irritated this time. On his blotchy face was instead realization and understanding. "Ohhh so... you love Robin that much. I get it now."

Chrom lowered his head, still deeply ashamed that he couldn't do what needed to be done in the first place. Grima watched the exchange in silence, his expression impossible to decipher. Did Chrom care? Of course he cared, but it wasn't as though he were part of the world anymore. He'd seen it in his friends' and families' eyes-- there was no going back. No one could look at him without knowing what he was.

Did it matter if everything burned?

"I always knew I liked you, Chrom. I had no idea we were so alike!" Henry mused cheerfully and then coughed again.

Grima clicked his tongue and made a sound of disgust. "I wonder if a Risen can infect someone via bodily fluids. That sounds like something you'd be interested in Henry." The mage perked up at the suggestion of research before he had quite put two and two together.

With a cruel, vicious smile on his face Grima turned to Chrom. "Why don't you show me? I'm dying to know-- you're a Risen, don't try to act like you're tired out from last night."

Chrom's mouth went dry nearly instantaneously. "What?"

_Henry had frozen, the mask of indifference and playful spite he wore slipping for a moment as he watched Grima knowingly._

"I've never seen a Risen breed a living human before, let alone a perfected one like you." Grima continued. Despite the warmth of the bath, Chrom felt like there was ice slipping down his back.

"Or, you could go fuck _yourself_!" Henry interjected cheerfully.

"I could make the test subject a dead human if you prefer!" Grima answered in a roar that quite literally shook the walls.

He then cast his virulent gaze onto Chrom, who was sure he'd lost feeling in his hands and feet. "Well? Do it."

"Grima this-- this is too terrible. This is wrong."

The Fell Dragon didn't say anything else but the awful rumble from before returned and Henry was definitely seeking an escape route with his eyes that time-- and then Grima ripped Chrom's will away from him. His mind snapped to black, and only his Risen instincts-- and the will to serve his maker-- remained.

Grima leaned back against the edge of the stone tub as he watched Chrom set himself on Henry. He knew that Henry didn't really want to hurt Chrom permanently, though he fought and snarled and thrashed with all of his might. Surely he could have thought of an awful hex to tear his flesh apart if he'd wanted to-- but these fools all believed in their bonds to each other, even this sado-masochistic failure of a Grimleal.

It was pathetic how he squealed and yelped, and tantalizing in a way that Grima hadn't known he'd wanted-- seeing Chrom purely feral. He was a snarling, howling beast given over to the chemicals that made Risen so very resilient-- and it made him hard just watching the awful display. The Fell Dragon stroked himself lazily as he watched cum drip from between Henry's parted thighs, now covered in bite marks and welts.

At some point, the poor wretch had started clinging to Chrom's shoulders to keep from banging his head on the stone floor he'd been pinned to-- it nearly made Grima laugh. He missed entirely the exchange between them: a breathy whispered phrase: _"Don't feel bad Chrom: I'm _into_ it." _

Grima rubbed out a shuddering orgasm that he cataloged away in his mind as lackluster in comparison to the ones he'd experienced thus far-- though there was certainly a kind of thrill in watching something like this. He found now that he liked the idea of getting his hands dirty. Watching the absolute mess his Risen King was making out of Henry-- Henry who had always seemed to act as though he felt nothing and knew little of pain. Every man had a breaking point, and his was eventually reached reached when he was too sore even for a masochist like him to wring another climax out of his aching dick. But Chrom didn't stop. He couldn't.

Satisfied by the drool, tears, and cum that decorated his victim-by-proxy's skin, Grima pulled at the invisible threads of his power binding Chrom's consciousness to himself and let him go. The fallen exalt all but collapsed, panting-- though he was clearly more concerned for Henry than himself. Grima rolled his eyes at the sight of them both weeping. Pathetic. It reminded him why he had wanted to scourge all humans from existence in the first place. At least Henry's tears were involuntary, driven by overstimulation. Chrom's were just heaving sobs of misery.

He sighed and climbed the steps out of the bath, leaving a trail of water across the tile and then into the plush carpet. For a few long moments, he stood over them with a look of vague disgust on his face. Chrom's energy was greatly depleted, and he knew it. His eyes were those of a caged animal as he looked up at the Fell Dragon, powerless to stop him from what he did next.

Grima bent low and lifted Henry's battered form with a hand curled around his throat as though he were picking up a discarded doll. Henry kicked and squirmed and clawed at Grima's arms, but he might as well have been trying to scratch at stone. The dragon smiled as Chrom let out a bellow, trying to wrench himself to his knees and tackle him-- but not before he crushed the mage's throat under the pressure of his claws.

He dropped to the floor, a puppet with its strings cut as Chrom's fury flung itself at Grima and toppled them to the floor as well. Winded, Grima laughed at him.

"What are you going to do? Crush Robin's skull? Strangle the life out of us in retaliation?" Grima remained unfazed and let Chrom ineffectively batter him until his rage dissipated.

In the end, the Exalt fell silent, curled on his side on the floor not far from Henry's lifeless form. The boy was a nuisance, anyway. Maybe he'd react to the Thanatophages' fluids-- maybe not. It hardly mattered. He supposed he'd let Chrom keep him if he did.

_\-------------------_

No matter what he did, Chrom heard the horrific crunching sound of Henry dying over and over in his mind, saw the empty-eyed, open-mouthed expression staring at nothing that had come over his face. Grima ordered him to dress himself, but he hardly remembered doing it. Every inch of his body ached and stung, and he only wanted to close his eyes and stop existing. The Risen instincts allowed for that, if only he stopped fighting them. He wondered if his mind would flee altogether. Wouldn't that just infuriate Grima?

Then he remembered Robin's voice from the night before.

__"Always."_ _

The urge to scream bubbled up in him, pervasive and all-encompassing-- but Chrom was certain that if he did, he might genuinely never stop. He could sense Grima moving around the room, was vaguely aware that he was dressing himself and then shortly after consulting with Morgan at the door. Chrom heard none of it. He tried to regulate his breathing as best he could, tried to think of anything but the horror of it all-- until he spiraled into nothing but static, the world outside of his agonized psyche a blur.

It could have been hours or days-- he wasn't sure-- when he felt something touch his face, and then begin to fluff his hair in a manner that was almost lighthearted.

Chrom blinked slowly as the dim room came back into focus, and found Henry sitting on his knees in front of him. He was certainly worse for the wear-- his skin sallow, his throat oddly lumpy looking-- as though it just didn't sit right. He let out a wheezing breath and offered a signature smile. Chrom waited for him to speak but he didn't. Maybe couldn't.

Eventually, he gave a reassuring thumbs-up which looked somewhat disturbing coming from a crimson-eyed reanimated corpse in tattered robes-- but he took it for what it was. People needed him. Lissa and Frederick may have been terrified and disgusted by him but they were still out there. There was still something he could do for them.

There was no rhyme or reason to what Grima was doing. He was a gluttonous child who'd never had sweets before, and now that he had, he wanted his hands on every kind he could get. Every time Chrom thought he'd taken a step forward, he took three back. He was starting to believe that he was doing it on purpose. He didn't want Chrom to forgive him, and when he did, he'd just do something more heinous. Why? Was it because of Robin? Because he was jealous?

The more he tried to make anything make sense, the less it did. He was shaken from his empty-headed reverie by Henry tapping, and them slapping him on the arm to get his attention. He'd wheezed ineffectually a few times before getting frustrated and pointing as wildly as he could out the great arched windows.

Somewhere on the horizon, a massive beam of light shone, dominating the skyline. Chrom was sure he'd seen it somewhere before, and yet-- nothing like it at all, ever. If only Robin was there to puzzle it out with him: if only Henry's voice hadn't been stolen away along with his life.

He got to his feet and Henry stood with him, a bit wobbly and stiff. He remembered the feeling. Trying to reel his mind in, he closed his eyes for a moment, and then realized suddenly that Henry's clothes and face were still wet. Like mood whiplash, he felt his own humanity suddenly very close.

Chrom knew that it wasn't like the dead could get sick, but he knew he could feel-- and Henry probably could too. Was he responsible for this? Had he done this to him? Would it have mattered? Was he better off dead?

" _This is way cooler than dying, don't worry!_ " The words came to him very clearly though Henry hadn't opened his mouth.

Chrom jumped back, startled and a bit disconcerted.

" _Also, now it's no surprise everyone in the kingdom was competing to be your wife-- ah. Oh. Oh! Did you hear that?_ "

"I wouldn't say _heard_ exactly." Chrom answered lowly.

"f _ _ascinating. I wonder where your Thanatophage is-- I've never even seen one for real but that's what's keeping us walking around only... I don't seem to have one. Maybe we're hooked up to the same one somehow. Like-- ah, magical formulas that conduct lightning power--_ "_ Henry's mind rambled on for several moments as he puzzled things out, something about something called a circuit, and nearly all of it went entirely over Chrom's head.

Thank the Gods though-- he thought, realizing that he was not so alone even if someone brushing his thoughts was as invasive as Grima's own power. Oh no. Could he hear them too?

 _"_ I _don't think so. I think we'd have noticed._ "

Busying himself so that he wasn't so focused on the horrors of the day, he went and pulled the doors to the wardrobe open. Absently, Chrom leafed through the various royal garments, some a bit dusty but all in decent enough condition-- unsure of what he should even do. Henry wheezed and squeaked, and he realized he was laughing at him.

Well at least someone was familiar with how Plegian fashion worked. He got out of the way and returned to the window while his companion changed. The light was gone, but something had shifted in the atmosphere outside. Smoke rose from somewhere on the edge of the city. He remembered Morgan appearing suddenly-- and the hushed conversation he'd failed to overhear.

"Something's happening out there." Chrom muttered.

His voice hadn't finished echoing back to him from the glass when another beam of pure light appeared with the force of an explosion, this one shooting up from somewhere below. It disappeared above them, into the castle itself-- or above it.

A screech so loud that it made Chrom reflexively clamp his hands over his ears tore the air. He and Henry shared a moments' glance and both ran for the hallway, terrified of what could possibly to that to Grima's spectral dragon form.


End file.
